The Order of Things
by hye-kyo
Summary: They met and it changed them. JaimexBrienne
1. The epistemic break

**The Order of Things**

by hye-kyo

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply.

**Author's Notes: **This falls within the storyline/universe in the fic Becoming and Being, some articulation of the events mentioned there but it's not really necessary to read that one (wow, shameless plugging).

* * *

**Chapter One: Epistemic break**

"""

He called her ugly the first time they met, which was expected since she was not exactly a typical beauty. She had hoped however that he was more than what his name makes him out to be, arrogant yes but a little more polite perhaps, but her little surprise came from his disregard of Catelyn Stark standing between them when he made his uncalled-for comments. She didn't really care though that time that he found her ugly, she had been called much worse before but she felt, oddly, a little disappointed that he was less than who she thought he was.

She could not connect the man who wrote the book praised as among the best auditing materials to the man Catelyn introduced her to. He was young when he wrote the book and it was easy to read and to follow and she had referred to it many times in the past, even after graduate school. There was hype around him, the intelligent, young and beautiful Jaime Lannister. She had attended some lectures he gave back in her university days and girls would swoon and surround him like moths. But the man she met in the Riverlands was not that man. He is golden and beautiful yes and he was older, much older (which she expected considering the number of years passed) but there was no fire in his eyes.

Catelyn was sending them to Roose Bolton at Harrenhal to check the accounts. There were some embezzlement charges raised against Bolton and they had to ascertain the accusations for, though Catelyn was wary of the man, he had been in service to the Starks for several years making her keen on disbelieving the charges.

They reached Harrenhal some days after their initial meeting. They met in the departure lobby of the airport where he made several offhanded comments on her physical attributes but surprisingly remained silent the entire flight.

"""

They were put in a company housing the minute they arrived, the remains of their first day left to themselves. It was a graciously-spaced house, much much bigger than the house she rents at the Riverlands.

"So how should we pass the time?" Jaime asked, head cocking to the side, sitting on a stool by the mini bar. He had unloaded his bags in a bedroom in the second floor he claimed as soon as he walked through the door.

"I'll look at the files," Brienne said, mostly to herself, moving to hide herself in her bedroom, the snide remarks he threw at her as soon as they hit the ground had gotten to her but she promised herself she would not let her temper (and his quips) get the best of her. She only needed space to breathe and gather her wits about her.

"You're no fun wench."

"My name is Brienne," anger instantly flared up at the term, pent-up irritation and frustration at being put together with him came bubbling up and in a second she crossed the distance between them, hands clenched at her side.

He almost laughed but did not though a sarcastic grin continued playing at the corners of his mouth. "You're much uglier up close."

She heaved, anger rising up to color her cheeks. "All my life men like you had sneered at me. And all my life I have been pounding men like you into the dust."

He laughed until he abruptly stopped, mouth setting into a thin line, "There are no men like me. Only me." And he stomped away.

"""

"Good morning," he said the following day, gesturing to the chair beside him. "Breakfast." She had not seen him for the rest of the day yesterday. She slipped out to get something to eat last night when she found that he was gone. She was not the only one unhappy with the arrangements.

"Thank you," she acknowledged and sat down, hauling her laptop bag on another chair. She wondered briefly at his politeness and furrowed her brows, knowing that some insults lie in there somewhere.

"You're quite a big girl so I am not sure if you need more." He pushed a plate towards her.

_Ah,_ she felt the temptation to frown but she will not let him get to her. "I can manage," she bit into a piece of bread, spread the newspaper he had left shuffled on the table and flipped the pages, looking for the front page.

"Surely you can," he smiled, "You're Big Brienne. And Big Brienne pounds men into the dust."

She did not give him the satisfaction of looking at him. She located the front page underneath all the papers and began to read.

"You're no fun wench," he urged on, looking expectantly at her, waiting for another flare up at the term.

"As I have been told."

He settled back onto his chair, smiling, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"""

They were provided some staff members to assist them during the auditing. Jaime easily fell into small chats with the staff members and Brienne was glad for she was not really good at meeting new people and introducing herself. Catelyn usually did that for her. But she was glad nonetheless, she welcomed new company, Jaime had been grating on her nerves since they were introduced back at the Riverlands and she would like Jaime to stop making her the topic of all his quips.

"And this is Brienne," he said, a hand curling around her arm and she shot her head up involuntarily, "She doesn't speak much for she sometimes forgets she can. I apologize for her in advance." He was smiling at her and she felt the intense urge to smack the smile off his face.

"Hello, I am Brienne Tarth," she flicked her eyes from the man beside Jaime whose ID read Steelshanks to the older man on his other side whose name she caught as Qyburn, "I will be working with you. I am in your care."

"And I as well," she did not know whether Jaime spoke those words to her or to the two men beside him. He was looking at her like there was something he knew that she doesn't. She returned his grin with a scowl.

"See," he gestured to the two men, "She is as fierce as a bear. It will be a very interesting year, don't you think?"

Their response were all lost on her the instant Jaime reached out to touch her hand, a placating touch he placed on her wrist. She immediately pulled her hand away, eyes narrowing at him, daring him to do that again and suffer the consequences but he held up a hand in a sign of defeat though his green eyes clearly told her of his amusement.

"""

They met Roose Bolton some four months after they had arrived. He was in some business meeting at Winterfell he said and he needed to be back there soon. To say that he was not a pleasant man was an understatement—his deadpan face was as disturbing as it is (and his pink suit was disconcerting), but the way he seemed to drawl his words made her discomfited. Jaime took the lead into discussing things with him, knowing she was not someone who could use words well enough. She was good with numbers and discovering patterns but wordplay she had never mastered and she stood silently beside Jaime while Roose Bolton began negatively commenting on their output (or lack of) so far.

"I don't like that guy," Jaime muttered when the said man left, frowning, looking at the files.

"Yes," she nodded, typing away at her laptop, not really minding Jaime's chatter. She had grown used to his arrogance and his sharp words (and even at his use of the term wench to refer to her) over the course of sixteen weeks, though there were days when he still did get to her and she would flare up and threaten him with bodily harm. She had stopped calling him by his last name. He had insisted she call him Jaime but she found that her cheeks would burn a bit whenever she tried to test his name in her mouth, she simply stopped calling him by anything at all.

"But pink suits him."

His tone was dead serious and Brienne had to look at him to understand what he meant, some double entendre perhaps but he only blinked at her and a laugh slowly bubbled in her throat until she began chuckling. It felt weird to be laughing and it even felt weirder when Jaime joined her and began laughing as well. She wiped the tears from her eyes. "Sorry, sorry," but she can't keep herself from chuckling.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "That was fun wench. Didn't know you dig his type."

She fought another urge to laugh and failed. There was a voice at the back of head telling her to inform him that Roose Bolton was not her type though as to why that would matter she did not comprehend. "Stop it Jaime," she mouthed, clutching at her ribs.

He only watched her for a while, his eyes taking on an amused look until he said, "Jaime is not that hard to pronounce, isn't it?" A grin played on his lips while he twirled a pen in his fingers.

She stiffened, felt the beginning of a blush creeping at the corners of her cheeks and she quickly went back to her laptop, wiped the tears in her eyes and began typing. She knew he was watching her, a prickle on her neck informed her, and she chanced a glance at him only to be responded by a tilt of his head. He was smiling.

"Lunch wench," he stood up suddenly and grabbed her phone lying beside her laptop and began flicking through. She scowled at him, looked at the clock on her laptop screen, grabbed her wallet and took long strides to catch him by the ascending elevator. She reached him just as the doors open and he pulled her in, dropping her phone in her hands.

"What did you do?" she hissed, catching her breath, looking around. They were alone.

His only response was to pull out his phone and dial her number. The ringing blared loudly in the enclosed space and he laughed, warm and rich and she glared at him. Gesturing at his phone, she dropped her eyes to look at the vibrating phone in her hands to realize that he had changed his name in her phonebook.

_Jaime the wench's type of guy._

"""

There had been many mornings like this, when his watching TV early in the morning would cause them to be late. He would be flicking through the channels, commenting on everything ("This is interesting," he gestured to lions mating in the screen, "Can you really do that in fifteen minutes?" referring to some cooking show) while she put away the plates and the cups. She was letting water run through the dishes when she noticed he stopped agitating the remote control. She peeked from the kitchen.

"Brienne," he called her, eyes till glued to the screen, "Look!"

"What?" she feigned annoyance when she called back but nevertheless went to sit on the arm of the couch, her hands soapy with suds.

"Look at the bear."

She frowned and rolled her eyes, anticipating a jest.

"See?" he turned to her, grinning, "It looks like you!"

She scowled yet again and sighed exasperatedly, threw some suds at him and went back to the kitchen. She heard him laughing as a growl erupted from the bear in the screen. She maybe big than most girls but she doesn't look like a bear, she is certain of that.

"""

But there had been many mornings like this too, when they would wake up so late and would not have time for TV, even breakfast.

"Hurry," she said, biting a toast on her way out. Jaime was yawning, his tie askew. She stopped by the doorway and involuntarily tugged at his tie to straighten it. Upon seeing Jaime becoming visibly surprised, she quickly turned around realizing her action, and mouthed how they are going to miss their bus if he doesn't hurry up, jogging to go on ahead of him, hoping to cool her burning face.

He was smiling and humming some tune looking like he was in on some secret he would not tell her when he reached the bus stop**.**


	2. Ebb and flow

**The Order of Things**

**by hye-kyo**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply.

**Author's Notes: **Still in Harrenhal. One more and we're off to another location.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Ebb and flow**

"""

"Jaime," she said, blood thumping in her ears. There was a slight buzzing earlier in her head when she woke up and Jaime gave her some aspirin and urged her to take a day off but she refused. She was reading through some materials last night and she had the feeling that she was getting somewhere, things have begun to show a pattern and if she drops it now she would never get it again.

He walked to where she was seated, dragged a chair beside her and looked gingerly at the paper she was holding. She knew he knew what she was trying to say. He had learned all of the variations in her mention of his name by now, the subtleties in her tone and he knew then that she had discovered something.

"Frey," she whispered, unblinking, afraid she'll lose the pattern if she closes her eyes even for a second.

"Walder Frey," he repeated, the name rolling in his tongue. He looked at her, trying to piece everything together in his mind, one by one it all clicked, a light turning on somewhere and he broke into a grin. He stood up, shuffled through a pile of papers on his desk, picked out some sheets and laid everything out on her table. "This," he said, gesturing to one sheet, "Is Black Walder."

"Yes," she said, a light blinking behind her closed lids. She did not notice she had closed them, the buzzing in her head growing angrier and she had to clench her jaws to force the pain away.

"Bolton doesn't know." He noticed beads of sweat on her forehead and he looked at her worriedly. "You alright?"

She turned to him, he suddenly sounded too far, and she felt floating and swimming in air, her body losing balance and sparks were going on and off in her eyes. She tried to squint her eyes to gather light to see him but he was too bright yet too dark and she couldn't and she was tilting, careening and she was falling down.

"""

When she came to he was seated across from her working on his laptop. She had apparently been laid out on the couch and there were some medicine foil on the low table in between them. She sat up, blinking her eyes, adjusting it to the light overhead when he looked up from his laptop and tensed.

"You alright?" he asked and she remembered him asking her a similar question sometime not long ago. His eyes were focused on her, fingers on the keyboard unmoving. He sprang up quickly, tossing the slim laptop on his seat and sat himself on the edge of the table across her. There were crinkles in his eyes and a line on his forehead and she knew this was the tensest she had seen him.

"I think so," she met his eyes briefly, scanning his hands, noted the way they clench and unclench at his lap, the hard line of his mouth and the intensity of his gaze. "What happened?"

"You fainted."

"I did?" she asked frowning. She has never been one to faint because of a slight headache, though the buzzing earlier in her head proved that it was not just a slight headache.

"Yes," he let out a long exhale of breath at the sight of her not seeming to be fainting again anytime soon. "And I carried you to the couch. Gods, you were heavy wench!" he dramatically exclaimed, smiling yet his smile didn't reach his eyes. He tentatively reached out to touch the back of his palm against her forehead to test her temperature but faltered.

"I'm alright now," she nodded at him, "I'm not feverish or anything." She looked away when he did follow through, his hand warm against her forehead and she thought it lingered there a little longer than it should. She backed away a bit, feeling her temperature rising (and she knew it has nothing to do whatsoever with fever) the contact lost and he dropped his hand on his lap.

"Well," he folded his hands together, frustration briefly crossing his features. He abruptly stood up, his back to her and went back to pick the discarded machine from the seat he vacated. "I need you to rest thoroughly however," he said without looking at her, "Tomorrow we'll piece the rest of the puzzle."

"I can work now."

"Tomorrow Brienne," he said, glancing at her, eyes narrowed at nothing in particular, "It's almost six anyway. We'll get a cab and buy dinner on the way home. No work this evening."

The way he said home sent a flutter in her stomach but she shoved it away, attributing her muddled feelings to the headache.

"""

Home consisted of pizza slices and some animal show playing in the television. Brienne thought she would puke at the thought of food but when Jaime opened the box, she realized she was starving. They were sitting on the couch together, a dolphin jumping across the blue waters in the screen which reminded her of Tarth, of real home, though when Jaime placed the pepperonis from his slice to hers (and stole olives from her slice to his in exchange) she realized that this being called home doesn't sound bad at all.

"That is cute," Jaime suddenly blurted out as the dolphin danced on water. "Have you seen a similar show at the capital?"

"Never been to the capital," she responded, mouth filled with pepperonis.

"Really?" he had sat up from having slumped on the couch and stared incredulously at her, "You've never been to the capital?"

She shook her head, eyes not meeting his. Maybe it was his concern but his hand had been briefly flitting to touch her arm and forehead again and again during their ride back to the company housing. She doesn't want to dwell too much on it but it had caused her skin to heat up a fraction than normal and she was seriously considering having herself admitted to a hospital thinking that she had contracted flu or something. That would be a better explanation for the sudden rise in her temperature than Jaime's touches.

"I'll take you to see it."

She raised a brow at him, eyes glancing briefly at him. She considered his words. When it registered to her that the words coming from his mouth sounded eerily similar to a date she shook her head and steered her mind away from that direction. There must be a catch in there somewhere; Jaime would never proffer something so easily if he doesn't see it as a chance to make fun of her.

"What do you say?" he nudged her with his elbow, the fact that he was waiting and expecting a response took her aback.

"I'm not sure where Catelyn will send me next," she said taking another bite just to keep her hands busy, "Besides, I'm not good company."

The dolphins were lost from the screen in an instant as he abruptly changed the channel. "You're a bit dull yes," he snapped, the screen a sudden haze of images as he tersely troubled the remote control, and she turned to look at him in surprise. "And stubborn," he added, staring away from her, rapidly flicking through the channels, not really looking at the shifting shows in the telly when he suddenly stopped, white noise in the screen.

"Jaime."

He stood up, "I lost appetite. I'm going out."

"What?" she followed him as he made his way to rinse his hands in the kitchen lavatory. "What happened to you?"

He looked at her, mouth open as if about to speak but he shook his head instead and walked past her to the front door. "Rest Brienne," he called out, the door closing with a thud behind him.

"""

Jaime had told her to rest but that was exactly the opposite of what she was doing. She tried to lie on her bed in her room on the ground floor, door ajar to hear him in case he comes back. Her mind kept replaying the events earlier when he suddenly upped and leave. She had never seen him that annoyed, except perhaps when they first arrived in Harrenhal, but that seemed to be lifetimes ago and the Jaime and Brienne of that moment seemed different from the Jaime and Brienne of this moment, twenty-nine weeks and four days after, (yes, she had been keeping count), and though they still bicker about the most mundane things it was usually in good spirits. She could tell he was enjoying their bickering as well as she does, but well, now she is uncertain, perhaps he had been tolerating her dullness and stubbornness all this time and earlier he simply snapped.

Brienne turned on her laptop, to keep her mind away from thinking too much about Jaime. She was feeling a lot better now and perhaps she can continue with what she was doing earlier before she fainted. There were still so many things she needed to piece together but everything is making sense. Walder Frey seemed to be behind the embezzlement; his son Black Walder has been posing as a nondescript employee at Bolton's and was given access to the big accounts. The wire transfer records were muddled but Black Walder's name is surely in there somewhere, she just needed concrete evidence. Black Walder's relation to Walder Frey is a dead giveaway but she knew there must be more to it than that.

She looked at the wire transfer records some more, the transfers were dated in intervals, intervals she recognized from Roose Bolton's schedules which his executive secretary informed her of. "Jaime, I think I—" sitting up and flinging herself off the bed when she abruptly stopped, realizing she was alone. _Or maybe Jaime did mean it about the dolphin show_, the voice in her head sprung all of a sudden. If he did, then she thought too little of him and she ought to apologize when he returns.

She decided she would wait for him as she stood up and went to the living room. She hurled herself on the center of the couch and grabbed the remote control Jaime had tossed on the cushions. She turned the tube on, white noise greeted her and she quickly flicked through. There was another animal show on his favourite channel and she almost laughed at the timing, for bears were on the screen and she watched, telling herself she doesn't look like one.

"""

A movement beside her was what jerked her awake. The television was off, all lights were off except for a lamp in her bedroom which she realized she had left on earlier, orange glow spreading from her open bedroom door to the living room. She knew it was him even in the dark, she had memorized every plane and angle of his; she was good at memorizing people's faces Catelyn once told her and Jaime was all she had been seeing for more than half a year so it was more or less expected. She could read every tilt of his jaw, every cock of his head, every furrow of his brows, she was certain she had gotten to know his habits a bit better that she was quite sure she could predict how he would react on certain things. Though her inability to predict him earlier gnawed at her certainty, she knew it was Jaime sitting beside her on the couch.

"I told you to rest, didn't I?" his voice was low, but still it perturbed the stillness of the dark and she almost jumped.

"I was resting," she whispered and turned to him. His eyes were closed but she knew he could feel her every movement with space so scant between them.

"Were you? You should've gone to bed."

"I'm sorry," she gambled and watched as his eyes opened, emeralds burning in the darkness of the room, "I think…" what does she think? She might be making a huge assumption and by doing so she might be risking herself, she had suffered rebukes long enough and she wouldn't offer herself for more. But this was Jaime and Jaime is her friend, she _believes, _and she is willing to gamble.

"You think what?"

"Uh," she furrowed her brows, words getting lost in her train of thought.

"You think what wench?" there was now a grin ghosting his face and she could clearly see how he was enjoying seeing her squirm. She frowned, so much for thinking of his feelings when clearly he was just teasing her. But she nevertheless felt a little lighter seeing him smile which seemed infectious given the little smile reflected on her lips. She knew, despite how much he seemed to be having fun at her discomfort and him falling back immediately to his regular teasing self (she thought briefly that she would let him be but he was grinning _too much_) that she ought to give him a piece of her mind and in response to the smug look on his face she clocked him in the jaw.

"That's what I think," she stood up from the couch, intent on hiding her blushing cheeks and widening grin in her bedroom when she bumped with the table in the process forcing a hiss from her throat. He laughed even as he hissed at his own pain, cradling his swiped jaw with one hand, laughing even more as he followed her.

"I think you are trying to invite me to your bed," he drawled, languidly leaning against the doorframe, one hand curling against the door jamb. There was still a grin playing in his lips but the glint in his eyes proposed something else.

Her eyes shot open at him, the suggestions of blush burning bright on her white cheeks. "Don't be so full of yourself Lannister," to which he laughed louder, the glint lost the moment he blinked and she managed to recover herself just in time to find him pulling himself closer towards her. In retaliation, she pushed him out the door in an instant and she heard him laughing still on the other side of the dark wood. She pressed her palms to her heated cheeks resolving to avoid any such conversations with Jaime in the future.


	3. Desire

**The Order of Things**

**by hye-kyo**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply.

**Author's Notes: **I did say this would be the last chapter set in Harrenhal but I think another chapter more is necessary. After the next one, it's back to the Riverlands.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Desire**

**"""**

Jaime had lost count of the number of times Brienne informed him of how a camping trip is extremely childish. He never heeded anyway, grinning to himself as he tossed his weekend bag on the overhead compartment, he told her they could play at being hedge knights, build a fire and a tent, hunt some rabbits and eat under the stars. It was stupid she said and very into her uptight character, she began listing reasons why it is not just childish but utterly impractical as well. But he knew she was excited at the idea. The moment he mentioned camping and outdoors some two days ago her eyes lit up beautifully, widening like saucers, oceans and seas in her eyes. He would like to see them again he thought so no matter how much she disagreed with him, he made sure they would be taking this trip. Besides, they have almost completed the report on Walder Frey, some more information and they could send it to Catelyn for her to take the appropriate action.

"I told you this is a stupid idea Jaime," Brienne settled on the seat beside the window. It was almost dusk, the sky a swirl of red and violets and the bus ride to the Maidenpool reservation would be some two hours and a half.

"Don't overthink," he commanded as he took the seat next to her, fitting himself snugly beside her. He laughed as she sharply turned to him and scooted closer to the window to create some semblance of space between them. His response was to pull her arm, "I won't be responsible in case you get a bump on the head if you fall asleep against the window."

"I won't hold you responsible," was what she mouthed though she had moved some inches back closer to him.

"Relax Brienne," the words felt wrong suddenly in his mouth, an unexpected image in his head that involved her underneath and him leaning over. He shook his head and glanced at her looking out into the sinking sun, her eyes sparkling in the waning light, the imagery gone and he wondered where that had come from.

"I've never been camping before," she began, her voice low, almost drowned in the sea of noises around them.

"This is a first then."

"This is," her tone seemingly lonely as she turned to watch him. Surprise etched on her face when she found him studying, cheeks automatically turning pink, bright against the dusky sky and she returned to looking out through the window, herself reflected back through the glass.

He watched entranced as her reflection danced and swam. _In this light she could almost be a beauty_. Her eye caught him staring at her reflected self and she averted her gaze, turned inwardly to block his view of her reflection and hide herself from him. He almost touched her arm at that but he held himself in check, surprised at the sudden tenderness of his thoughts and almost-actions. Clearing his throat he began, "I was about twelve when I first went to a camping trip."

That got her attention. She turned slowly to him.

"With a foster brother," he met her eyes, curious as to what she would react upon hearing him refer to Rhaegar Targaryen. There had been rumors he was certain and for the first time he hoped not everyone has heard of it. It never really bothered him before, the way people's eyes would look at him, judging him with their stares. His response was to laugh nonchalantly at them—he could care less if they think little of him. But now he knew he would not bear it to see the same judgement reflected in Brienne's beautiful beautiful eyes.

There was recognition in her eyes but she did not show any other emotion. Her only other response was to lean closer, to look more at him and urge him wordlessly to continue with his story. He had almost heaved a sigh of relief.

"Some camping place near Casterly. There were about six of us, Addam, you've met him at the Riverlands, and some kids from the Rock, I forgot, but there were six of us, the oldest was Rhaegar," he stopped there and looked at her, waiting for a flicker in her eye, for a turn of her head, a pursing of her lips but there was none, her eyes kept looking at him expectantly, "By midnight we decided to tell stories."

"What stories?" she asked when he did not continue.

A smirk formed on his mouth, "Stories not fit for your ears my lady."

She blushed then, understanding lending her eyes wide. Her response was to smack him in the arm.

"Though I can tell you," he leaned closer, breath ghosting along her cheeks, "If you insist."

"Shut up Jaime," earning him another smack.

He only laughed, and settled heavily against his seat, head resting on the cushions and he extended an arm to brush carefully against hers. He was tensed for a moment, anticipating her pulling away, his arm hovering ready to curl back into him in case she can only respond with rejection. Though the girl stiffened a little at the touch, she did not move away. Slowly he relaxed his arm, skins touching and he felt her warmth creep into him and he turned slowly towards her, wanting more of her heat and scent.

He noticed she was responding similarly, her body turning to his ever so slightly, her arm sliding against his and he took the initiative to bury his head in the crook of her neck, making himself comfortably snug against her warmth in the impossibly small constricting space.

"Jaime," was her only response.

"I think I need to close my eyes wench. Do me a favor and stop squirming."

She huffed, a stream of air worrying the strands of his hair and he had almost leaned in then, to catch the puff of air into his mouth and follow through by closing the distance between them with a press of his lips to hers, nibble onto her lower lip and introduce his tongue inside the wet cavern of her mouth and taste her. _Taste her_.

"I'll wake you up when we get there," her voice stopped his body from acting on his thoughts however and he was thankful for that, he was not afraid of being beaten to a bloody pulp (though he had seen her do exactly that when they ran into a thief the other day) but he was frightened of the thought of losing this friendship, this relationship, whatever this is.

"Then we can share stories."

"""

The disappearance of the hum of the bus was what told him they have reached their destination. Jaime did not open his eyes, the remnants of sleep still heavy in his head and the warmth of his seatmate too comfortable to leave. Brienne's hand slowly crept to his, touching him tentatively and he felt keen on responding with a returning touch when she spoke his name slowly, gently.

He opened his eyes, took a moment to breathe into her neck, breathe her scent, slowly pulling away, disentangling the arm he had unconsciously wrapped around hers, and the hand he had pulled her fingers with, each of his fingers tightly wound around each of hers. He wiped sleep off his face and stifled a yawn, limbs feeling like jelly.

Brienne did not speak though she followed him as he stood up and retrieved their bags from the overhead compartments.

They did a little trek from the bus terminal to the reservation area, gathered the equipments they rented and proceeded to the camping grounds. Brienne did not utter any word while they made camp. Jaime had to poke her to reply when they were putting up the tent. Despite it being her first time camping, she seemed to know what she was doing as she began the fire.

"I read stuff," she said as she began stoking the embers, "I wanted to go camping when I was little but my brother died while on such a trip, he drowned in a river you see, so my father did not let me."

She said it so abruptly, like she was commenting on the weather or something similarly quotidian that it took him off-guard. "I begged," she continued, "But he did not want to, I didn't know why then. I cried for days. Only when father told me that he doesn't want to lose me the way he lost Galladon did I stop crying. I promised him I would never leave him, nor try to leave him again."

Jaime sat beside her, feeling like a fish out of water. It was the most personal story of Brienne that he heard so far. She had told him of the blue waters of Tarth and he had commented that he would want to see it sometime in the future and she agreed to provide him accommodation on the condition that he would bring his manners to Tarth and leave his loose mouth and sharp tongue somewhere else. But he had never thought to ask about her family; it never really occurred to him that families might still matter to someone. He had stopped caring about families some time ago and never really thought about caring about anyone again so soon. _You care for her_, unbidden his eyes wandered to her lips, her tongue briefly flicking out to run along her lower lip, sending a jolt through his spine. He frowned at himself, at how easily distracted he was. He looked back at the fire, bright and burning now, and he poked at a rock with a stick. He brought his mind to things that matter, to things that he care about, to understand what she was telling him, what she was showing him by telling him this story, what she was opening herself to. "I'm sorry."

She looked at him, shadows dancing on her face. She smiled, a little smile that tugged at some corner of his heart, "It's alright. It has been many years ago. I only remembered it now."

"How was he? I mean…do you remember your brother?" he recalled his brother Tyrion with fondness, recalling every moment he called him brother, following him around, wondering when everything had fallen apart.

"Not that much," she shrugged, "I was young. Very young. Much much little than I am now obviously." She laughed softly, the dark taking all her inhibitions away.

"Obviously," he grinned back, his hand itching to reach out to brush some strands of hair that have fallen on her face. He wrung both hands, clenching and unclenching, confused at his body trying to have a volition of its own. "Since you told me your story," he cleared his throat, "I will tell you mine."

She arched a brow, "Stories not fit for a lady's ear?"

His grin widened and with a low voice he said, "Those are for later."

She rolled her eyes. "What is it then?"

He inwardly smiled when she scooted closer, not minding the dirt. She mimicked his poking at the fire with a stick she found lying nearby, the fire hissing and golden in the dark. She looked at him like a child would to a parent about to tell a bedtime story. "About Aerys."

A shadow flitted across her face and for a minute he could not see her reaction. It was easy to read her face, her whole thought process mirrored in every line, every curve, every movement of her eyes and mouth and losing sight of her in the dark made him afraid of the very real possibility of her bolting out and leaving him alone. "Go on," her voice urged her and when he looked up he found her blue eyes shining.

"I assume you heard the rumors."

"I have. Everyone in our field has."

"Is that why you hated me in the beginning?" he cocked his head to one side, settling into a more comfortable position.

"I didn't hate you."

He pursed his lips, considering his words carefully, "Then if that wasn't hate what was it?"

She searched for his eyes then, "You disappointed me."

He leaned back, legs stretched out before him.

"You were not the man the stories made you out to be."

"The stories about Aerys or my past glory?" he had to smirk at himself at that.

She mimicked his position, "Both. I attended your lectures, read the book you wrote and some other materials you published. They were good. But only for a time. After Aerys," she glanced at him, "After the issue with the Targaryens…you lost your fire."

"My fire," he considered the words. "You know my father of course, Tywin Lannister is ruthless. Rhaegar was a friend you see and his father Aerys offered me a job at the Targaryen Conglomerate. I was young then, still basking in my glory after the book was well received, I was everywhere but my father was not so pleased with that, he was never pleased with anything and he wanted more. He wanted me to take over the Lannister Corporation and build a better empire than the Targaryens. I was young and a rebel, wanting to prove I can do without father shadowing me at every turn, believing I was, how do you say it, invincible. I accepted the position, worked hard, played dumb at all bad dealings, illegal activities, you know it, you know what I'm referring to. I was Aerys' right hand, I knew everything, at one point I think I had been running the entire conglomerate.

Until one day, the issue with the power plant, which was kept secret, almost exploded. It was about to literally implode. It was uncontainable, so to speak, and Aerys wanted to hush the media about it. People have died in there and more are about to die, the plant was shut down, they were trying to contain it and in the process many were trapped inside. Aerys knew father was going to tell the media, I was privy to everything after all and Tywin is my father. I begged him to uncover the issue, pull out the remaining people and ask for help but he didn't heed. More died. Everyone in there died.

When he was cornered he cut himself, bled himself dry, bled himself to death. The conglomerate disintegrated soon afterwards and Rhaella, Aerys' wife before long died of grief, Rhaegar in an accident along with his siblings. Everyone working for the Targaryens had fled, I was the only one left after the disintegration, a Lannister in the midst of the Targaryens. Everyone knew who will gain from such demise.

I offered to foster the remaining Targaryen child but Ned Stark judged me guilty. He sent the kid abroad across the Narrow Sea." he looked at her then, wondering how she would take it. He had never told it to anyone, never felt the need to justify himself to anyone, _only now._ He felt parched, so parched that his mouth went dry as he waited for a response.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" it was only when she responded had he realized he had held his breath.

He shrugged, sitting up, watched the flames lick and burn and hiss. "My fire," he laughed softly, "Was snuffed out after that. Isn't it ironic? How I am working now for the wife of the man who judged me guilty?" he laughed again, but this time it sounded harsher.

The crackle of the fire was enough noise to deafen him. He was about to stand up, resume putting up the tent when she whispered, "You are a better man than you think you are."

"""

"Seriously Jaime?" Brienne held a bag of marshmallows in her hands.

"Of course," Jaime grabbed the bag, popped it open and began skewering marshmallows and setting them above the fire.

"Are you twelve?"

"Thirteen," he laughed. "You are twelve."

She rolled her eyes but did turn some of the burnt marshmallows.

Jaime watched her from the corner of his eye. She was smiling and he couldn't help the equivalent smile playing on his lips. He was thankful she hadn't run off on him yet, even if she had wanted to it would be unwise on many levels. For one, it was almost midnight, public transportation had ceased operation a couple of hours ago. After he told her his story she seemed to have settled into a lighter mood, a look that could be understanding or sympathy or respect or something similar settling in her eyes, rendering them bluer. He found his smiles seemed to come easier, more genuine and he realized he had never felt like this before.

She opened the bag of chips and soda he packed in his weekend bag. "Junk food everything. Can't believe I'm doing this with you."

"Of course you are. Unless you want to do something else?"

She rolled her eyes again, threw a rock at him and unpacked some more foodstuffs from the bag.

"How come you are working for Catelyn by the way?" he asked.

"She was a fellow at the Reach University when I was in undergrad." She popped a chip into her mouth. "I travelled to the Reach for college. You might not remember but you lectured there for a time. I'm not sure when."

He nodded, "I think I remember. But I don't remember you."

"I was not really…" she chose her words, "Active so to speak. If I had asked you a question then, or commented on something you would have probably responded with crude remarks about my appearance, or my height."

"Fair enough," though he had to frown inwardly, thinking he would have and would have probably been unapologetic about it. But he was glad she did not, he was not so certain about what he would have said, about how much he would have hurt her then. He was tempted, however, to tell her there was nothing wrong with her appearance nor her height. What she lacked in physical beauty she makes up for in dedication, honor and skill. And he had gotten used to her, so much so that he had rather developed a certain fondness for the sprinkling of freckles on her skin, so much partiality he was tempted to see and confirm if her freckles really do cover her entire body.

"Catelyn was a member of my panel then and she encouraged me to apply for a scholarship at the Westerlands which I did so I lived for a time near Casterly Rock and completed graduate school."

He was at the capital then, working for the Targaryens. But he remembered being invited to a presentation at the Westerlands by Catelyn Stark. He had the feeling that had he attended, he would have met Brienne earlier.

"After graduation I worked for a time for Renly Baratheon," a blush suspiciously colored her cheeks.

"The youngest Baratheon? The gay kid?" he watched her reactions and an irritable feeling rose abruptly in his stomach. "You fancy him, don't you?"

"I don't!" her answer was immediate and defensive.

"Of course you do," he spat, poked brusquely at the burnt marshmallows, "Renly Baratheon with his well-pressed suits and flowery perfume. How could you not?" He looked away from her, "Everyone knows his proclivities wench."

"I don't." He did notice the change in her reaction, "At least not anymore. For a time yes, but that was before I realized he was…in love with someone else."

"Loras Tyrell."

"Yes."

"I assume you've learned your lesson." He surreptitiously glanced at her.

She frowned. "What lesson?"

"To fancy a real man Brienne. A real man who looks more like a man than you do."

She frowned some more and threw another stone at him. He only laughed, the bad taste in his mouth gone. He could show her how a real man is, he was tempted to tell her he was strong enough.

"How long did you work for the gay kid?" he earned another frown at that but he only laughed again and poked at her with a stick.

"Two years then Catelyn recruited me and that was that." She tossed another chip into her mouth and swatted at him. "Stop it Jaime."

"Make me," he poked again, mouth now full of marshmallows.

"""

Their campfire was the lone campfire tonight Jaime could tell. There was neither smoke nor chatter in the near campsites. They have settled into a patch of green surrounded by trees, the moon clearly visible overhead, obstructed only by some branches and twigs reaching out to the sky. They had fallen into comfortable silence, food and drinks gone, stories told. He was looking up overhead and he reckoned it must have been some minutes past one in the morning. He learned she had once a cat she named Blue but the cat died when she left for college. In exchange he told her about the stray dog he picked up one evening at the Rock when he was about ten. It was sick and he nursed it back to health. He didn't have a chance to name it anything since his father sent it to the pound immediately as soon as he knew of it.

"Aren't you going to sleep Jaime?" he knew she needed sleep, she hadn't been sleeping much lately, always reasoning that they were so close, too close to uncovering the puzzle and she could not sleep, should not sleep, afraid that she would lose sight of the pattern if she as so much blinks.

"Go ahead Brienne." He was beginning to trust himself less around her, his thoughts teetering over the edge, loitering some spaces away from the carnal and the physical and he was not so sure he could keep his hands to himself if he joins her in the tent. And he was not sure she would have the strength and the resolve to stop him even if she wanted him to stop. He hoped she would not want him to stop. He almost cursed aloud at the impossibility of his thoughts.

Brienne stood up from her place near the fire and slipped inside the tent, "Jaime?"

"I'm going to keep watch wench." He glanced over at her.

"Keep watch?"

"We are hedge knights. It is not safe in the woods at night."

She frowned at him, disbelieving such words were coming from his mouth.

Jaime tried to convince himself that the tent does not look inviting at all. They were only able to rent one tent, it was meant to tease her and it was not camping season after all.

"Hedge knights? We have a tent and junk food Jaime."

He did not tell her how that had sounded too much like an invitation to share her bed. He did not inform her either that her invitation had sent his blood boiling, coursing through him to settle into that part of his lower body wanting to get acquainted with her. "We are modern hedge knights, cool hedge knights if you will," he laughed, trying to convince her that he was turning down her invitation to bed because he was keen on playing this hedge knight thing and he was honourable besides, though that part of him was begging to be less honourable than needed. Maybe he should ask Brienne.

"Very well." He heard the rustle of fabric and knew that she had settled in, leaving the flap slightly open. He almost let out a groan, disbelieving himself, disbelieving he had turn her offer down. But of course Brienne, the oblivious girl, would never make such an offer in the first place. She would have fled if she knew exactly where his thoughts about her are headed. _Or maybe she would welcome you_, he groaned again, uncalled for thoughts invading his head.

He settled into a comfortable position beside the fire and looked up, straining his ears to listen to her breaths in the dark. It did not take long until the sound of her breathing became more even and her fidgeting less, he knew she had fallen asleep. He would ignore the tightening in his pants, would will it to go away. He would not know what to do if the girl would wake up in the middle of the night to find him jerking off with her name in his lips, so no he would not.

"""

He almost jumped when Brienne's hand curled around his shoulder some three hours after. Her hair was mussed, clothes wrinkled and eyes puffy but he knew he wanted her then, the throbbing in his pants beginning anew. He hoped the dark would hide the evidence of his arousal.

"You go to sleep Jaime. I'll take watch." She settled on the patch of grass beside him.

"But I'm not—"

"We are hedge knights. We take turns."

He nodded then, tapped her shoulder. "Wake me up when the sun rises. I want to see it."

"We are too old for this you know. If we were younger we wouldn't need to sleep."

_Yes, we wouldn't, we'd be occupied with some other things_, was what he wanted to say but kept his mouth shut on his way to the tent. They were too old and she was too wise and he was not but somehow he can force himself to do the right thing, or not act on the _right _thing, because god, he knew it would feel so right. _She would feel so right. _There was still warmth from where she had lain and his body betrayed him by settling there, fitting his body where she had, taking in her scent, images in his mind of how she would have curled into herself had he joined her in the tent earlier. He would reach out a hand, trace a pattern on the freckles on her arm and she would flinch but he would continue nevertheless and he would spoon her in his arms. Her eyes would get that fierce look, a threat but he would only laugh and she would be mould against him, soft and pliant and hard and sturdy all at once because she is a different girl, a stubborn, oblivious, honourable giant of a woman and she would swipe him, clock him in the jaw but he would only smirk at her as his hands would slip insider her shirt and seek the warmth there. He would let his hands span the freckled skin there, skitter over expanse and expanse of white skin and pale breasts and he would coax her into her back while she fidgets, unsure but he would trace the hollow in her throat with his tongue and she would moan, little noises so unlike her rolling off her lips and into his and he would follow the puff of her breath and capture her mouth with his, tongue slipping in to taste her, sweep into her mouth, annoy her tongue and provoke it into coming out from hiding. He would taste her mouth again and again and she would be breathless and would come up for air. She would try to push him, because she is so damn shy and he is not and he would let her feel the evidence of his want against her thigh and his hands would slip into her pants and find her wet and wanting as much. He would touch her, fingers caressing the hot flesh there as his mouth would follow the descent of his fingers and taste her, and feel her buckle against his chin and mouth and he would lick and drink in her essence and existence and she would wind and wind tighter and tighter until she comes down from her high in a rupture that is both sweet as it is painful and he would catch her. He would remove the rest of her clothing and she would do the same for him because she would want it to be equal, the tasks equitably distributed, and he would laugh at her reasoning and push her on her back and position himself between her legs. He would urge her to tangle her legs around his back and he would pull her legs wider, wider to accommodate him and she would curse at him, an impossibly long string of curses that would sound lewd and unusual on her mouth but he would only laugh again and kiss her soundly at her impatience—

"Jaime."

"""

Jaime's eyes blinked wide open, afraid to move and turn. What if he were to find he had acted on his imaginings and Brienne was there inside the tent with him, ready and wanting? He slowly moved his head, arousal heavy and almost painful.

"The sun is rising. Hurry." Brienne peered into the tent and cast him a worried look.

He breathed a yes and thanked the god she had removed herself from the entrance of the tent. How long had he slept? He looked at his watch and realized it had been two and a half hours. That long and he never even got to the really good part? Sunrises be damned but he was going back to bed and hopefully continue from where he had left off.

"Jaime. Quick!" her voice sounded equally annoyed and excited. With much reluctance he crawled out from the tent after willing his arousal away and followed her into the clearing. The sun was rising. It was almost breathtaking.

He glanced at her.

"Good morning Jaime. " She was smiling, teeth crooked and horsey grins and face freckled all over. But the smile on her face is enough to make up for all the unsatisfied want.

"Good morning Brienne."


	4. Space between

**The Order of Things**

**by hye-kyo**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply.

**Author's Notes: **Next up: Riverlands.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Space between**

"""

Catelyn responded the day after they sent her the report on the Bolton embezzlement charges, saying she would have an investigation conducted. The ball was on her court and it would be up to her to deal with the Freys. Some three Freys were directly incriminated by the evidences Jaime and Brienne gathered but they both suspect there are still more. "We hope my father is not involved in this," she remembered Jaime telling her as they responded to Catelyn. They both knew how the enmity between the Lannisters and the Starks run deep, Brienne hoped it would not be something that would affect this relationship she had developed with Jaime for at the end of the day her loyalty is to Catelyn. And Catelyn is a Stark, no matter how much Brienne insists she works only for the Stark matriarch.

Some two weeks are left to them. They had more or less vacated the office space allotted to them, all other staff members clearly happy they would be leaving, except for Pia, Qyburn's assistant who had began batting eyelashes at Jaime since the first day. Brienne had noticed and, though she does not really care who Jaime goes out with, the arrogant man had assured her there was nothing for her to worry about. "I am faithful," he said to which she only frowned, she did not tell him she had wanted then to say she does not really care but a tiny part of her was happy he did care about what she thinks but a bigger part of her, that selfish ambitious part of her still hoping to find someone who would see past her tall stature and awkwardness died a little at that, understanding that he was someone else's, not that she was hoping it would be him.

And perhaps Jaime also informed Pia of this, the girl had taken to Brienne instead. She was personable, easygoing and liked being directed. Brienne had put her to good use rummaging through stacks and stacks of papers at the basement. Surprisingly, she was happy enough with the task and told Brienne she wouldn't mind working for her and Jaime in the future.

Jaime had taken to referring to their last two weeks as vacation, he had suggested they go to Duskendale, they can take a ferry and see the island of Dragonstone, spend two or a couple more nights. They should go swimming he said, he is feeling a little cooped up within the high walls of Harrenhal with land everywhere.

"The Rock has beaches," he told her, the suggestion to go visit the Rock ripe in his mouth.

"Rocky beaches. Tarth has lovely waters," Brienne responded, boxes and papers piled on the floor.

"Then Tarth it is!"

She narrowed his eyes at him, "No. We have some more cleaning up to do. Besides Catelyn might send us some further instructions."

Jaime rolled his eyes at her, "That's what emails are for."

"Exactly. She might send an email when we're out."

"Then we read her email when we're out. You can't expect me to sit in front of my laptop and just wait for an email from her to pop up on my screen." Jaime walked over to where she was filing papers. Placing another bunch of earmarked papers on top of the ones she had painstakingly categorized, he poked at her cheek, "I'm hoping to rub off some sense on you."

Brienne swatted his hands, "I'm not susceptible."

But she nevertheless found herself on a bus to Duskendale that evening.

"""

Jaime had apparently made reservations with a hotel at Duskendale. He had only grinned at her when the hotel staff inadvertently informed them the reservations were made a week ago under the name of Jaime Lannister, one double room booked for three nights. She immediately requested for one more room, seeing as Jaime had intentionally done that to infuriate her but the hotel was fully booked and the blond smiling man beside her voiced his lack of intention to change hotels.

"Double room?" she had almost shouted then. "Three nights?"

"Why not?" He grabbed the information sheet and began filling out their details.

"Can you change that to a twin please." Brienne turned to the registration staff who immediately began processing her request. It took some time however as the hotel was packed and Brienne was seriously considering checking herself into another hotel (provided there are available accommodations late in the evening). If not, she would have to suffer through Jaime's teases and hope against hope that the double bed would be more than a standard double bed. Luckily for her, another couple who made the mistake of reserving for a twin room arrived asking for a double. She, forgetting all about her inhibitions towards meeting new people, immediately volunteered to swap with them.

Jaime's grin was surprisingly absent from his face as they made their ascent up to the fifth floor.

"You still get to tease me you know." She did not feel bad of course, self-preservation was the most important. Besides, she was still _there_ for Jaime to tease and make fun of, not that she liked it, but still, he doesn't need to act as if he really would want them to _share a bed_.

"So you look forward to it?" eyes flicking up at her statement.

"I don't. I prepare." The elevator stopped with a _ping_ and the doors opened. She quickly scanned for the hallway for the odd-numbered rooms.

"You prepare." She arched a brow at his tone, considering the words she had spoken in her head. She knew there was nothing incriminating with what she said, though she couldn't tell with Jaime. He always has a way of twisting her words into something that would cause her to blush, frown and get angry. In that order.

"Shut up."

He did, unexpectedly. Upon locating their room, he slid in the key card and opened the door wide for her. A grin was playing at the corners of his mouth and she felt the intense urge to throw her bag at him and render him unconscious. She wondered why she agreed to go with him in the first place when all her thoughts of him include some form of bodily harm. _And some other form of bodily contact as well._ She pulled at her own hair, now longer than how she usually kept it, the sharp pain bringing her back to focus on him, on the way he hogged the bed near the door, an unreadable expression on his face and she grimaced inwardly. This would be a lot harder than she thought.

"So what are the plans for tonight?" He stretched on the bed, lithe muscles and sinews made apparent under his shirt. Brienne looked away. It was not as if it was the first time she saw a man's body (it could not even count as seeing), years in the university swimming team had exposed her well enough.

"Dinner." The word was out of her mouth before she even thought of it.

"And hotel pool." He stretched some more, shirt sliding up to reveal toned flesh underneath. "We won't get to do much sightseeing tonight."

"Dinner it is then." She turned around, dropping her backpack on the bed left to her. She stripped off her jacket and hung it on a chair by the dressing table leaving her in a blue shirt that was a little tighter than her usual clothes. She stretched her legs, the bus providing no leg room and straightened some wrinkles on the back of the knees of her fit jeans. She caught Jaime's eyes staring at her and she scowled, grabbed her purse and briefly knocked him on his feet dangling off the edge of the bed. He finally laughed but followed her out, the plastic key tucked in his jeans' pocket.

"""

They had dinner at an unremarkable kebab place. It was the only place that could seat them, all others were filled to the brim with people. It did not matter though, she was so hungry she could anything and anything would taste good. Jaime did not care either as he seemed to be savouring his meal with relish. They did not speak during the meal, each engrossed too much with food, the bus ride had proven to be too long and by the time they found the only available place to eat they were both too famished to speak. "I have never been that hungry." It was Jaime who broke the silence when he was done eating, wiping his mouth with a napkin. She responded with a nod and polished off the remaining food on her plate. When they have cleared the plates and paid (Jamie insisted he would pay but she forced him to go Dutch), he suggested they take a walk. Jaime pointed out to her some of the structures they passed, then they lazed a bit near the port and watched for a time some of the boats leaving and docking.

"I have been here so many times I can't remember exactly how many." Jaime began, walking ahead of her, seemingly to look for something.

"I have not been here."

He stopped at an intersection and beckoned her to walk faster. "You have not been to many places."

She shrugged. She followed him and watched as he stopped in front of a closed store. It was a big structure, jutting out of the horizon like some enlarged chess piece. The wooden doors looked heavy adorned with two iron rings.

"Found it."

She did not take her eyes away from the building, took a step and touched her hand against the cool wooden surface of the door. It felt solid under her touch. "What is it?"

"It's a toyshop," he was grinning. "Tyrion loved this place." He rarely speaks of his family, but Tyrion, his brother, is that one exception, and when he does, he does so fondly. His eyes would light up in a way that would cause her heart to flutter into her throat, an image of a young Jaime playing with his brother flitting in her eyes. She knew he would laugh at her if she told him of it; even she would laugh at herself if she as much voiced it out.

"Really? We should see it when it's open."

"We should. I can buy you a wooden sword. Some men will kidnap you and throw you into a bear pit and you will fight the bear with the wooden sword. Of course you would not be able to kill it, it's a wooden sword after all and the bear is big, much bigger than you, and that is saying a lot. So I will come and jump into the bear pit and rescue you." He teased, face straight and tone deadpan. "Then you would have to give me a kiss as a reward."

"You are dead Lannister." She rolled her eyes. And he burst out laughing, hands clutched to his stomach. "Come on." She turned on her heels, scowling, walking towards the direction of the hotel. "Keep that up and I promise you'll be a head shorter by the end of the day."

"""

The pool was surprisingly empty for a packed hotel. Jaime insisted they take a dip, it was still early he said (early being some two in the morning which is in actuality is early by all rights) and Brienne had to admit her sleepiness got lost in their banter.

A year had been too long yet too short to get to know Jaime yet she knew he was the closest male she had ever known (with the exception of her father) and surprisingly had become relatively comfortable around him despite his continuous jests. He was the closest male person she had ever allowed into her personal space, though it is probable it was not simply a matter of her giving him permission into her space, he had a way of pushing past barriers. Not that she was unhappy about it, but she knew she had rendered herself vulnerable at her own admittance of Jaime being that _close_ to her, she knew she was opening herself to more wounds and more stupid decisions. She had gone through the same thing before but at least then she could blame everything on her youth and her naiveté, on her belief that the world is round and each person has innate goodness in their hearts. She was proven wrong and she had closed herself off since then. But Jaime seemed different, is different, a fragile hope blossoming in her— fragile as it was it was still hope and it had blossomed. Though of course she was more practical now, she knew more or less where she stands and she stands not on the same ground as him. She quickly attached herself to a corner of the pool wearing a relatively conservative swimming attire which sent him arching a brow at her.

"Now you must race with me to the other side wench," he said, water trickling from his hair to his chest, golden and lithe in the semi-darkness.

"What?"

"You're not wearing a bikini." He pushed back hair falling into his eyes. "So you have to make up for it."

She shot him an incredulous look, his mouth was such a well of stupid words and ideas. She splashed him some water, "You don't know what you're asking for Lannister."

"I know. I'm asking for a bikini."

"Shut up."

His eyes were alit in the low light, smiling and dancing with some mischievous promise. She eased away from him, afraid of the sudden warmth swimming in her belly. "Come on wench."

"Jaime."

"Come on." And he tugged at her arm and pushed her to the middle of one corner of the pool. He began a count and before finishing to three he turned to her. "If I win what will I get?"

She shrugged, body tensed at his sudden movement.

"I'll give you something if you do."

Brienne turned to look at the finish line. "Alright. If you win we'll go to Tarth." She saw the beginnings of a grin from the corner of her eye so she quickly added, "But you definitely won't so we won't."

"Really?" a cheeky grin on his face before he shouted the end of his count and dove into the water.

"""

He was insisting he won when she was insisting she did. He would collect on his winnings soon he said but Brienne only stomped to gather her towel from the benches and dry herself. She sat on the edge of the pool, feet dangling into the water, towel around her shoulders. "It's almost three AM Jaime."

He did not reply, but continued doing laps in the water. Reaching her side of the pool, he hoisted himself up to sit beside her. "I'm arranging for us to go to the capital after Harrenhal."

They had this conversation once before. Though she remembered Jaime walking out on her, she knew it would be wiser not to assume he walked out because she would not go with him to the capital. That would be too presumptuous on her part. He did say he was a one-woman man, and as far she knew, even if she was thinking that taking this farther, whatever this is, into something more than this, would be too much of a welcome thing for her, it would not be possible since he was already smitten with someone else (though even if he was not, there was no possibility at all of him being attracted to her, given how little she was gifted in the looks department). Though he had not told her about his lady, nor had she asked. "I'm going to the Vale."

"The Vale?" His tone suddenly heavy. "Catelyn told you?"

"I requested to go to the Vale."

He got up, eyes locking with hers. "You requested? It means you could make a request? But you did not request to be sent to King's Landing with me?"

She frowned. "Why would I request that?"

He had opened his mouth to speak but pursed it instead, words lost somewhere in his sudden anger and he walked to the edge of the corner where they were at.

She suddenly felt too tired. "Catelyn approved, she just sent me a notice last week."

He didn't look at her.

Brienne wondered why this would matter to him, didn't he say she was too ugly? Too tall? Too slow? Besides, there were things, things that were beginning to sprout in her insides and she was afraid those things would take over her and she would lose herself in them, and admit something as silly as liking him. Him. Him of all people, unattainable him with his golden hair and easy smiles.

"Were you even planning on telling me?"

She swallowed. "Of course."

"Of course my arse."

"I could visit," she proffered. "Or you could," voice almost lost in a sudden rise of insecurity. Perhaps he had too much fun making fun of her, that, that would be the most rational reason why he was suddenly acting irrationally.

He jumped into the water, the force sending splashes of water to her side of the pool.

"Sansa Stark is doing internship at the Vale," she offered as some sort of an explanation, hoping he would hear it as he swam towards the other side, "We are friends and when Catelyn said the Vale was among the choices, I did not hesitate." In truth she had, Catelyn told her she could either spend the following year back at the Riverlands to work on the Blackfish account, or at the Vale for Lysa Arryn, Catelyn's sister, or down in Dorne for the Martells. The older woman lastly said she could go to the capital if she wanted to, though Catelyn did give her some advice which might be insinuating something about how she is acting, or feeling, towards Jaime, feelings which would get her in trouble. She had mulled it over last week—Dorne is out of the question, she had been there twice and the desert sun was not for her; Riverlands is easily crossed out as well, she would like to go somewhere else, she had been staying there for the best part of her life besides. That left her with a choice between the Vale and King's Landing. And she knew Jaime would be at the capital and she knew following him there would be like crossing the threshold, some sort of a liminal experience where she would be trapped in the then and there, unable to move forward because moving forward would force her to label what it was that urged her to follow him and there would be no turning back.

"And what are we?" He settled on the other side of the pool.

She wanted to throw the question back at him but she didn't because she knew what he would say. The word friends was out of her mouth soon enough and she thought he hadn't heard until he laughed, dry and hard and she asked, "Aren't we friends?"

His mouth hardened into a thin line. "If you say so wench." Then he was out of the pool in an instant, slipped into a robe and pushed himself into the elevator that would take him back to their room.

"""

Brienne had slipped back into their shared room sometime after four. He was already in his bed, asleep, back turned towards her and she slipped into her own bed. She had used the shower by the pool to wash up, not wanting to share the bathroom with an awake and irritable Jaime. Perhaps she had said something, or had not said something, but she clearly irritated him, enough to drive him away again. Does he expect her to expect something of him? If he does, to what extent? She feared she would expect too much, too much that he probably wouldn't be able to provide. _You, you, yourself alone_. And she is too different from him besides and she has no other experience comparable to this one so she mouthed the first, _safest_, word that came to mind when he asked what they were. _Friends_.

"I'm sorry." The words startled her and she sat up, his voice too soft and she feared she might have merely imagined it.

"Jaime?"

She heard the rustle of fabric and knew he had sat up too. When her eyes adjusted to the light she could make out his form, hunched and looking at her. "You heard me. I'm not saying it again."

"Oh."

He moved back to settle on his bed, eyes trained at the ceiling. "We are friends of course."

The rush of air from her mouth almost did not prevent the prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes. She mimicked him and found her way back on the bed, a tight constricting feeling in her chest at his confirmation of their relationship, of the confirmation that it was that and nothing more. Maybe she had hoped a bit, but she was _just this_ and nothing more and he was in love with someone else and she had been too stupid to even let the idea of _together_ cross her mind. Wasn't she the one who labelled them as friends? "We are."

"We are." He echoed.

"Good night then Jaime."

"Its morning now wench."

She turned her face to the wall, eyes swimming despite her continuous reprimanding of herself to stop being such a _girl_ for she was not, she was never, hadn't she learned her lesson yet? Years of taunting and japes to her physicality had made her hard hadn't it? Yet the tears were there, threatening to spill and make a fool of herself, heart in her mouth and years of hardwork on the brink. She swallowed.

"Brienne?"

"What?" her words seemed garbled to her ear and she swiped angrily at the loose tears that rolled off her cheeks to splatter against the fabric of her pillow. She knew what this was, she had cried for herself then, loathing her inability to see through japes and taunting and believed that someone could see through past skin and bones to discover her, _her, _and this was _heartache_ all over again, yet what was different was that this time she was crying for what could be. _Together._

"Brienne." She had felt him first before she had heard him and his warmth seeped slowly into her as he slipped in beside her, an ocean of distance between them yet the warmth was there and he was there and she tensed and urged her body to fight the want, _the need_, to scoot closer.

"What are you doing?" she said through gritted teeth.

"Didn't you say we are friends?"

She considered his words in her head and turned slowly, to face the ceiling just as he was doing and she closed her eyes and felt and heard his breathing in the dark. She could trace his outline in the dark, every part of him, his warmth was enough to let her know he was there, she need not touch him. How ironic, she grimaced inwardly, how his nearness emphasized his distance from her. Yet she accepted, they were friends after all.

"Sleep." He moved then to press every inch of him to her and she felt her lashes fluttered briefly at the beginning of the contact, squeezed shut again as she felt him bury his face into the crook of her neck. "I'm sorry."

_Friends._ She felt herself nod and willed herself to sleep. She would forget this. Soon she would.

Sleep generously came and for that she was grateful.

"""

He was not in the room when she woke up. It was almost midday and she quickly washed up, dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and shirt and took the flight of stairs for the elevator was taking _damn_ too long and she was worried that he had left. But he was by the buffet table, a plate in his hands, tongs taking some meats onto his plate when he met her eyes and he waved with the tongs.

She nodded at him, followed his line of sight as he gestured to where he was seated.

"Good afternoon wench." He sat down, putting the plate filled with food in front of her.

She looked at the food. "This is a lot."

"You're a big girl." He laughed, and she was relieved. There were no traces of what had transpired last night, so much that she felt she imagined it all, his voice, his arms, his scent, his warmth. The heavy tugging at her heart was the only reminder that she did come to the conclusion that they were friends, that he came at the same conclusion and she was glad she did not pursue anything else, because if she had she might have not found him at all today. He might have packed his bags and gone back to the capital.

"I'll get my own plate."

"I have my own plate. That one's yours."

She only scowled at him but nevertheless began to eat. "You should have woken me up."

"You were snoring wench. How could I wake you up when you look like you are going to club me to death if I as much as poke you in the face?"

Brienne rolled her eyes at him. "Anyone would club you to death if you as much as poke them in the face."

He smirked, a slow smirk that forced a shiver to skitter wildly in her belly. "Especially you."

"Especially me."

"What do you suggest we do today?" he tossed greens into his mouth and chewed slowly, eyes trained at her.

She frowned at the expressions he was making, at the way he appeared to be deliberately urging her to look at him and she averted her eyes and focused on the food which seemed to lost flavour in her tongue. _What about in his tongue?_ The thoughts came unbidden and she found herself staring at the way he ran his pink tongue on his bottom lip.

"Staring is rude."

Brienne looked up and found Jaime's green eyes trained at her. "What?"

"You were staring. Want a taste?" She almost purred a yes, crawling back to the space between her resolve and her desires. She knew of course he was toying with her, like what he usually does, those were only words but sometimes words are enough to make her believe, and hope, and hope that there were things beyond words. But there weren't, for words are only words. And his words are banters.

"Shut up Jaime." His answer was to laugh at her reaction.

"""

They spent the entire day looking around the port area, they had climbed up some boats and bought some live catch and had the hotel cook them into something. When it was dark they took a cruise along the harbour and had dinner. There was music and dancing but Brienne declined when Jaime asked her to dance saying the best she could do was spare one of his feet. He laughed then but settled beside her. Some woman asked him to dance but he unsurprisingly declined with a gesture towards Brienne to which she only scoffed.

The following day they took a ferry to Dragonstone and wondered about the hidden caves. Jaime took photos and asked her to pose for one but she did not, she told him she knew he would only use it scare thieves or animals, or ghosts from his apartment but he nevertheless shot a photo of her, which she didn't know. She only knew of it when he asked her to ring him up in the pretence that he could not find his phone. Her photo looking out into the ocean was what greeted her when she heard it ringing and found it in her bag. He dared her to delete it but she did not because it was the first photo where she thought she actually looked alright, not to mention the slight quiver in his voice when he dared her.

But he did not share her sleeping space again. And before she knew it they were back in Harrenhal and some days after they were on the train back to the Riverlands.


	5. Un-labelling

**The Order of Things**

**by hye-kyo**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply.

**Author's Notes: **We get Brienne's POV next at the Vale.

* * *

**Chapter Five: Un-labelling**

"""

Jaime did want to offer Brienne a ride home but she seemed to suddenly found discomfort in his presence, fidgeting and not speaking for a very long while only to break the silence with a stammer, or if she was somehow successful, some two-choice words: shut up. If it was any other girl he would have labelled it limirence and on Brienne it would have been welcomed, but Brienne was unlike most girls so he knew it was something else, besides she doesn't look at him _that _way. Hadn't she informed him of it already?

He found himself alone in his apartment back at the Riverlands. He was hungry but he doesn't feel like going out, if he does go out he would be alone besides, Brienne was not there _damn it_ and he had spent an entire year with her only for her to drop him like a hot potato at the first chance she got. Or maybe it was something else entirely, he does not look like a potato in the first place, perhaps there was something bothering the tall girl but there was not much time left for him to coax it out of her, she was leaving for the Vale after tomorrow and him back to King's Landing, he could try and persuade her to follow him instead, but he had tried that and that didn't go too _well_. Besides, there were too many things, too many things he wanted to say and though he has mastery of words he could not lay everything out in letters; he is too _occupied _for this, whatever this is, but he couldn't let it simply go. And his only response was to get mad at her.

So he would sleep. Then he would see her tomorrow. Take her out to dinner or something as farewell. Then they would talk, about chances and possibilities perhaps.

"""

Jaime was early the following day. He talked with some other early birds: Brynden and Edmure Tully were there and they discussed some corporate issues; Podrick, the intern who had attached himself to Brienne asked him about the girl to which he launched into a semi-detailed (and flamboyant) story of how a dog ran after her one time on the way home, and that time when she threatened to castrate Locke, Bolton's staff, to give them access to some confidential files. Brienne came in then, quickly interjecting with corrections on Jaime's version of the threat story. She didn't threaten she said, "I requested", and then she smiled at the intern. Jaime almost felt a little stab of annoyance at the way she treat with the boy, so unlike how she does with him that he almost let out a vicious retort but he managed to keep it in. He was trying to get on with her good graces besides.

It was then that Catelyn arrived and requested the two of them in her office.

"Good job."

He respected the woman and has conviction in most of her decisions though of course he does not completely trust her. She is a Stark and he is a Lannister and blood is thicker than water but he was grateful she had offered him the chance to work again regardless of his reputation, to put to use the things he knew and learned. He knew then, when he received her job offer, that it was his last chance at proving himself, at proving he was not simply his father's son.

He glanced at Brienne and noted the delighted way she was looking at Catelyn. The older woman had influenced much of her he knew and though he was glad Brienne had taken to Catelyn's idea of honor, he was a little unpleased with how much the older woman's sense of duty and lack of humor rubbed off on Brienne. That, he would have to teach her.

After some clarifications and confirmation of some important issues about the Bolton charges, Catelyn confirmed Brienne's deployment to the Vale and his return to the capital. He had almost voiced out his opinion then but Brienne's hand had found its way to his lower arm and he had stilled and the next thing he knew the Stark matriarch was dismissing them, saying some guests would be arriving that afternoon and could they join them for a meeting at the conference room? Brienne nodded and he did too, not really realizing what he was committing himself to and soon they were shuffling out the office and into the hallway.

He realized then he had let a very important moment slip. "You were distracting me."

She raised a brow. "I don't know what you were talking about." She made a beeline for her office at the other end of the floor and when he made a move to follow her she expressed how her desk is overflowing with papers, the need to clean up before she leaves tomorrow a very urgent one and how she would be pleased if someone, _someone_, would be so kind as to let her have some much needed time to work on all of that.

Jaime relented with much reluctance.

"""

Organizing and responding to queries took most of his morning and before he knew it, it was already past lunch time. He quickly stood up from his swivel, past Addam Marbrand on his desk and went for the wench's office. He passed by Podrick who made to get up to announce his arrival but he waved a hand and went straight for Brienne's door. He knocked once which quickly got her attention. He noticed the flurry of expressions which immediately crossed her face upon seeing him and he invited himself in.

"Lunch." He sat himself on the couch.

"Is it now?" She made no move to get up however so he crossed the distance between them and stood beside her table. He began flipping through the stacks of papers.

"Your staff is famished."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Alright."

Jaime good-naturedly looped an arm around hers as soon as she got her purse. She tried to squirm free but he held on tight and she responded by hitting his arm. He grimaced at the pain, the wench does throw heavy punches but he held on and soon he was accosting her outside the door, Podrick quickly standing up to watch them with worry. They caught the attention of her other staff; Josmyn Peckledon had stood up as well as some other people he wasn't familiar with. He noticed the blush on Brienne's face intensify when he laughed when she tried to free herself again from his hold.

"Pod, Peck, come with us." She almost shouted when they passed Pod and the boys quickly scrambled to their feet. Jaime gave the boys a threatening look but it probably looked tamer compared to Brienne's that the boys ignored him and hurried to catch up with them as they reached the elevator.

"You need not invite them." He whispered, so close and closer still he could catch her earlobe in his teeth. It looked tantalizingly pretty, pink and fuming, a stark contrast against her pale blond hair and still paler skin, that he felt the need to move closer, her arm securely trapped against his and his mouth ready to taste the flesh within reach.

"Jaime." Her voice was breathy and he glanced at the two boys who had turned their heads away from them, eyes focused on the changing number of floors while they stood at the back, pressed tight against each other. He was glad the elevator wasn't covered in mirror walls.

"Tell them to leave."

"Shut up." But he had noticed how she had softened against his hold and his hand slipped down to touch her hand and slowly he entwined each finger around each of hers, warm and tingly, and he squeezed. She went rigid immediately after and he was reminded of that night in Duskendale when he slipped into her bed and held her, he was so angry then, so angry that she would choose someone over him (since it all boils down to that, the Stark girl or him) that he had asked what they were. He knew of course that she would answer with what she had, but surprisingly, something in him had begged to hear something more, though as to what that _more_ was he doesn't know. He knew he was not ready for something as serious as Brienne deserves but he was not ready to let her go either, if she had offered to stay in the liminal he knew he would have agreed with her, exploring and bickering and touching, _touching yes oh yes_, but he was the one who forced her to label this, in a compulsive attempt to make her choose between her friend and him (him who turned out to be _just_ another friend) but the moment he realized he was forcing her to acknowledge the space between he was in effect forcing her, and himself as well, to move past the space between and on forward, into the safe territory and easily navigable terrain of friendship . And he didn't like the turnout one bit.

It was the boys' curious stares at their entwined hands that told him they had reached the ground floor and the elevator doors were wide open for everyone to see how curled around he was about her and how rigid and red she had become. He only grinned and pulled her along, hands not leaving her as they made their way to the cafeteria.

She didn't speak much, which was not unusual but still different from when they were in Harrenhal. They had taken lunches (and every other meal) together and he had bantered and she had responded, sometimes with a well thought of and equally witty jest, and he had laughed, smuggled food from her plate to his and she had gotten angry and hit him, after which he had laughed some more. But now, she seemed more introspective as if she was taking herself captive, almost indifferent, she was much more silent now than yesterday and he ran his words in his head and thought of whether he had said something which she might not have liked (and she doesn't like most of the things coming from his mouth anyway).

She had pried her hands away as soon as they reached the entrance to the cafeteria, Stark employees all around them and she whispered something about duty and honor (Tully words, he thought of whispering back) and watched as she manoeuvred to find a table for the four of them. He could have taken her out instead but the boys were there and she insisted they go eat at the cafeteria so he relented, he had been relenting to too much of her whims lately he noticed.

Jaime hadn't even noticed himself beginning to eat, he was thinking of some way to snoop her from the two boys, whom she had instructed to sit on either side of her, that he hadn't noticed she was already done, bussing her own plates and moving to vacate her seat. Pod and Peck followed.

He vowed to get another chance tonight.

"""

By five in the afternoon Catelyn emailed to inform him of the arrival of their guests. Brienne was already at his door by the time he read the older woman's email and she knocked softly. Jaime knew he would get her in trouble if they would be late by as much as five minutes but he pretended not to hear. She knocked again and when he pretended to bury himself in his laptop he heard the creak of the glass door and her soft footsteps.

"Jaime. Catelyn said it's now."

He looked up feigning surprise and grinned. "What is now?"

"The meeting."

"Ah." He made no move to get up however and he saw from the corner of his eyes the wrinkling of her face into something akin to annoyance and he chuckled inwardly.

"Jaime come on."

He glanced at her. "Where?"

"The meeting." She had emphasized every syllable and Jaime knew she was getting angry.

At least she was showing some expression, anger was better than nothing, anger he could take, he would have an angry Brienne any day than an indifferent one. He stood up then and smiled at her, eyes examining every aspect of her, the blue blue ocean in her eyes, the freckles, the wide mouth, the ungainliness and he knew he would try again and ask Catelyn, if Catelyn commands it, he knew Brienne would have no choice but to follow and as for his part, he would make it worth all her while. He could suggest they un-label _this_, and move to the capital, settle into an arrangement that is new, untested and uncharted for both of them, of course it would be infuriating at first—he could imagine them fighting about every single thing—but it would be better; his life would change he knew and he was excited at the prospect. She does deserve a better option of course, something more solid like a real relationship, a real relationship where everything is exact and labelled, like a relationship between lovers who proclaim themselves as lovers and take on the roles as lovers, both affirming what they are to each other but if she does not agree with his would-be-suggested arrangements in the betwixt-and-between, he would tell her they could still be friends (if she really wants to label it), for whatever its worth, but it's imperative that she goes to the capital with him and not leave his side until he is sure what this is and until he could do something about it.

They reached the conference room without anyone speaking and he had the intense urge to hold her hand and speak to her then but the double doors to the room opened and he lost the chance.

"Jaime, Brienne, come on in."

He did notice the immediate flush in Brienne's face upon stepping in and when he followed her line of sight Renly Baratheon was there sitting on one of the plush chairs. He felt an unwanted feeling bubble in the pit of his stomach.

"Brienne!" Renly walked over to her, pulled her into a hug, their heights rendering the hug awkward but the dark haired man did not seem to mind, and clapped her on the back. "I haven't seen you in a long while."

"Renly." Jaime felt himself gag at the breathiness in her tone and he almost rolled his eyes were it not for Renly's sudden attention on him.

"Jaime Lannister. I have heard so much about you."

Jaime knew it was not meant to mean something, just random words that you say to someone whose name you have heard somewhere but the bile was in his throat and he said, "And you too. I have heard a lot about you Renly Baratheon."

Brienne nudged him but he thought he did not care, but he did and it only produced more bile in his throat because Brienne was blushing at the gay kid and Jaime wanted to hit something, anything because Brienne was blushing at the gay kid! He forced himself to take a deep breath.

The double doors swung wide open again and he saw the look of recognition from Brienne. From the looks of the new guests, they were the Tyrell siblings. _Ah, Loras Tyrell_, he almost congratulated himself for knowing that fact about Renly and the Tyrell boy, but when he looked at Brienne the smug expression on his face disappeared and he narrowed his eyes at her and forced her to look at him and away from the Baratheon and stop _bloody_ blushing and look at him instead. She met his eyes briefly and he pulled her hand to his, quickly giving it a squeeze just before Catelyn made a formal introduction of the new guests.

"Brienne, I assume you know our guests. Jaime, these are Loras and Margaery Tyrell. And here is Renly Baratheon. Brienne worked for him for some time." Catelyn urged them to take their seats, Jaime quickly putting himself beside Brienne though he had not counted on Renly's choosing to sit beside her as well. Margaery sat across from him, a curious look in her eyes, a smile on her lips and Jaime thought that he does not trust the Tyrell girl one bit. Loras sat across from Brienne while Catelyn positioned herself across Renly, not wanting to take the seat at the head of the table, demonstrating how she could play corporate power play well.

"This is a rather surprise visit," Loras held Renly's eye a little longer than what Jaime deemed was appropriate given the circumstances and he hoped the wench saw it so she would stop blushing at her dear gay Renly.

Catelyn explained to them the possibility of a new venture with Highgarden and Renly Baratheon. The youngest of three brothers, Renly had separated early on from the other Baratheons and had begun building his own company. He had enlisted the aid of the Tyrells, a family-based corporation from the Reach region. Renly had mentioned the possibility of asking Brienne's help with one of the ventures they are planning, saying how Brienne had proven herself again and again when she was still working for him. He mentioned it was in broadcasting and Jaime immediately scoffed.

"Brienne is good. But put her in broadcasting and she'll wither." Jaime spat.

Brienne did not look at him.

"She's comfortable here. And she works best when she knows the terrain." He added, eyes glaring at no one in particular. He caught the eyes of the Tyrell girl and frowned at the glint in her eyes. He looked away, anger clouding his vision and his ears.

"And she would stick out like a sore thumb if you put her in broadcasting, you wouldn't want the limelight on her I'm telling you." Catelyn looked at him sternly, forcing his mouth shut.

Renly cleared her throat and continued with other matters of business; Brienne's face had turned away from Jaime, clearly focused on the dark-haired man. He felt angry, so angry and he felt the need to reach out to touch her hand again but he clenched his fists instead. Why would she act so much like a girl in front of the Baratheon kid when she never as much as bat an eyelash at him like a limirent girl? And now she was ignoring him like there was no Harrenhal, like they have not lived with each other for the past year, like they have not gone camping or shared work, shared food, shared _beds_. He unclenched his fists, the words a blur in the background and he felt so mad, so annoyed at her, at everyone, at himself for being annoyed because Brienne was acting that way towards another man, _a gay man_, and not towards him.

"We can talk more about it later at dinner. What do you think? Besides, we haven't seen you in a while Brienne and you can tell us stories." Margaery engaged Brienne across from the table.

"Would you join us Mr. Lannister?" Renly asked.

Jaime shook his head, anger rendering him deaf.

"Very well then, see you at dinner." Catelyn's voice reverberated in his head and he realized that he had just declined a dinner invitation but the wench did not. He remembered planning to invite Brienne to dinner as an invitation of some sort to new arrangements, as a discussion of possibilities, as a farewell, since they would be leaving for different places tomorrow but when he looked at her she only ignored him. He tried to catch her hand but she was out of the room in an instant along with the rest of them and the Tyrell girl was tapping at his shoulder.

"What?"

The girl smiled, ringlets curling around her face, smiling and looking like she knows everything there is to know. "You don't have to be rough on her."

"What?"

"Renly is clearly taken. If you want her to look only at you, you need to be gentle with her. She may look tough but she is still a lady. Treat her like one." She smiled again and slowly walked through the double doors.

"""

Jaime lay on his bed awake, the dinner had ended hours ago he was certain. It was almost midnight and he knew, based on the past year, Brienne is still most probably awake. He could dial her number and call her, apologize and tell her he could drive her to the airport tomorrow no matter how early her flight is, or no matter how late, or no matter how inconvenient the time would be, he would suggest them to get a breakfast on the way, or lunch or something, whatever fits just so he could talk to her. But he shouldn't, should he? She was the one blushing and acting like a lovesick girl earlier, if there's anyone who should be calling and apologizing and offering to drive to the airport it would have to be her.

Perhaps his thoughts were muddled. Brienne was the _only_ woman he had spent a long time with outside of his family and he was confusing certain feelings. He had been without a woman for a very long time and with such longing it was easy to confuse desire for certain feelings, it was only an itch that needed to be scratched. Nothing more. So he would not call her, he would not apologize, he would not discuss with her his thought process, the possibilities of un-crossing the threshold, staying where they are and enjoying this sense of newness, freedom if you will, unconventional arrangements that are un-boxed as it is un-labelled.

He would not. She would leave tomorrow and he would too and he would go back to what everything was before he met that stubborn, bloody honourable, giant of a woman with eyes like the sky in a clear bright morning. She could giggle and blush at Renly for all he cares. _Damn it_.


	6. Routine

**The Order of Things**

**by hye-kyo**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply.

**Author's Notes: **Chapter inspired by Jacques Lacan. Reviews are love. And if Jaime sings Michael Bublé's Haven't Met You Yet there would be world peace. Or not. It's a song for Brienne supposedly. And because I can't get over how apt this song is for them (at least for Jaime before meeting Brienne) here is my favorite line:

And I know that we can be so amazing  
And being in your life is gonna change me  
And now I can see every single possibility

BTW, this fic is cross posted at A03, I'm updating faster there.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Routine**

**"""**

Some mornings Brienne would imagine she was back in Harrenhal. She would tiptoe to the kitchen, start the stove if it was early, scramble some eggs and toast some bread. She then would brew some coffee and would flip through the morning newspaper as she waited. She would throw open the curtains while she sips her coffee (black, she wants it heavy), turn the telly on and listen to the telltale signs of Jaime stirring from his sleep. She would wait as she hears him pad down the stairs, his door closing behind him with a soft thud. She would put the toasts on a plate along with the eggs and watch from the brim of her coffee cup how he would seat himself on the kitchen stool. "Good morning wench," was what he would say and she would pour him a cup of coffee and he would dump cream and sugar in it like he was not afraid of getting diabetes and he would sip and get his tongue burnt. He would swear and then announce how awake that made him then he would grab at the breakfast she prepared and bring the plate to the living room where he would slump on the couch and agitate the remote control. He would call out to her and she would join him, spaces between them on the couch and they would watch in silence, his comments peppering the silence every now and then and she would laugh at some and would grimace at most. Sometimes she would punch him when his comments become too absurd and he would only laugh and ask to taste her coffee. She would let him and he would give her his coffee cup for her to have a taste too and she would stick her tongue out at the horrible, horrible sweetness of his morning drink and he would mimic her reaction at the bitterness of hers. He would finish off his breakfast and if morning duty is his he would wash the dishes. If not, he would tell her to do it and promise her he would wake up earlier the following day to make breakfast but she knows he would not, he always gets up later than her because he sleeps later than she does—he would be always reading the papers, or doing some late-night work until the wee hours of the morning, or checking door locks—so she would think of what to prepare for tomorrow's breakfast and would have a mental list of what to buy at the mini mart near their place in the evening.

But most mornings she would try to forget because she knew Jaime had already forgotten, he was back in King's Landing and back with his _someone else_ anyway, and she would try, try _so hard_ to forget that she would fail to remember all about morning routine and would come to work not having eaten anything, rumpled and grumpy.

"""

Sansa Stark invited herself to Brienne's apartment that night. The redhead took the sofa bed and stretched out while Brienne sat across from her, book in her lap and laptop open and blinking on the table top.

"This is a nice place."

"It is." Brienne looked at her knowing she wanted to talk about something though the eldest Stark girl seemed to be having a hard time putting her thoughts into words. "What is it Sansa?"

"You know Brie," she said, peering cautiously at the taller girl, hands fidgeting with the hem of her cream dress.

Brienne furrowed her brow. She had met Sansa Stark back at the Riverlands some three years ago. She herself was not much older than Catelyn's daughter and they had gotten on quite well after their first meeting. Last year Sansa moved to the Vale to do internship with the Arryns, who were related to the Starks by marriage through the female line. She was currently living with her aunt Lysa Arryn. "What is it Sansa? Is anything bothering you?"

She seemed to consider her words carefully. "The thing is," she met her eyes, "I know you're sad."

That took her aback. She thought it was about the redhead girl, knowing she was not meeting her mother eye to eye and Brienne had thought she wanted to sleep over because she wanted to discuss her issues with her mom. Besides, she is not sad, is she?

"Whatever it is," Sansa crossed the distance to sit beside her, "I am here for you. We can talk about it."

"I really don't have—"

"Is this about a guy?"

Brienne averted her eyes knowing a blush was blooming on her cheeks. "No. And there is no problem Sansa."

She was smiling. "You can tell me."

"There is nothing to tell." She had almost frowned. Of course there is nothing to tell, is there? Especially since the supposed topic of their conversation, whatever kind of conversation it was supposed to be, would probably laugh if he knew they were going to talk about him in that way. Jaime is a friend and nothing more, they had both made it perfectly clear to each other and though her heart did do a somersault at the sudden mention of the possibility of his existence related to hers in that manner even if it was not in direct reference to him (she was the only guy _in her life_ right now, by all intents and purposes, thank you very much), she knew she does not want any of this conversation right now.

"Jaime Lannister?"

Her turn was so sharp she wondered how she had not broken her neck in that moment. She knew her face was flushed and her eyes wide and all signs a giveaway, but she would vehemently deny because Jaime Lannister is merely a name, a name associated with someone she had worked with and nothing more.

"I called you last time at the office, Mom said you were in Harrenhal with Jaime Lannister."

"He is a colleague."

"I know. You worked with him. But maybe he isn't _just_ a colleague."

She sighed, a sign that could either lift her from this or incriminate her further.

"You're not usually like this. You are not the talkative type yes but I can tell if something's bothering you."

Brienne opened her mouth to speak. How is she like then? Her daily everyday self, how is it? Had there been changes about her? Does that mean Jaime had irreversibly changed her into something, someone resembling her but not really her? Perhaps she had changed, perhaps she had a little, perhaps it is showing through, how she would add some cream in her coffee in the morning, how she would try to eat her olives, or try to look at camping equipments, or how she would eat toasted marshmallows and how she would curse when she burns her tongue, how she would try to remember _every day_ in Harrenhal, how she would try to remember him, how she would miss him. Perhaps, perhaps all those little things had compounded into something that is changing her nebulous self, her own construction of her self, her own self-concept, changing her into someone who wants to call him and talk and just talk and apologize for how they parted at the Riverlands, tell him how she would have wanted to have at least a farewell dinner or something, make arrangements for visits and calls while she stays at the Vale and he at King's Landing, know that they are _friends_ even though they are miles apart and know that they will see each other again soon. Had she been changed then? She was no tabula rasa of course and Jaime could not have easily changed her, perhaps it was her recognition of his sudden presence in her life that made her susceptible.

"Do you like him?"

Brienne knew she should refuse to say anything, in the first place Sansa's simple words are not enough to convey the enormity and weight of her feelings, and most importantly, saying anything about how she feels for him, would render her feelings true and irrevocable because by naming it as _like_ or _desire_ or—gods forbid!—_love _would bring forth a new presence, a presence that would eat at her heart and tore at her veins until she does something about it. Besides, wasn't it enough for her? All those memories at the space between should have been enough, _jouissance _it had been yes but _jouissance_ is also pain, for a person can only take so much enjoyment, there is a limit to pleasure, and too much pleasure would be pain and suffering. Like love. Pain was the consequence of naming what they had, of labelling what they had. Or what they could probably not have.

"Brienne."

"No Sansa. It is not like that."

The redheaded girl pursed her lips. "Then what is it?"

"It's nothing." Brienne looked at her and knew she would not let it go unless she say something, anything that would box whatever it is and make it understandable for Sansa, for herself, for Jaime. So she gave in. "It is friendship. I think."

"""

Brienne would have to be honest and say she did wait for Jaime to show up the morning she left for the Vale. Though she couldn't bear the thought of ever admitting that she did wait, cheesy romantic movies and airport scenes aside, she knew the least thing she could do to keep her peace of mind was to be honest and admit she had hoped, for a little while, that his blond arrogant self would appear at the airport, all insults and dirty words in his mouth but promises as well, that he would welcome her to the capital if she would ever find herself there, and an offer of some semblance of friendship (in whatever variant) if not the Harrenhal kind of friendship.

But he was not there and she had to move on, she was a professional after all and she is a professional before she is a woman, a colleague before she is a friend and she would not make the same mistake again of putting herself in the role of a woman and suffering what a woman suffers. So it was with much renewed sense of professionalism that she met Lysa Arryn, accepted her new post and office space at the Vale and the new housing complex where she would be staying for the next six months.

She had met new faces and work seemed easy, easier compared to her last assignment with the Boltons, and Sansa was there every evening to cook and tell her stories about her internship for Petyr Baelish—that gross, gross, old man (Sansa's words)—and divert her mind from thoughts of a certain blond man. She usually slept early, didn't watch too much TV, there was nothing to watch anyway, though Sansa usually keeps it on to provide some background sound while she talks and Brienne works. She usually ate heartily, Sansa feeds her well and from time to time they would visit the large supermarket at the Gates of the Moon to get fresh produce. It was colder in the Vale but Brienne does not mind, she slept well, ate well, work well. Everything is well. Or at least everything seemed well.

It has been a month and Catelyn continuously communicated with her. Pod as well. But Jaime—she had to admit her heart does almost, always seemed to burst whenever she got an email from the Riverlands—had not. Not even once.

"""

Brienne woke up to the insistent ringing of her phone. She tried to ignore it, it was sometime in the middle of the night (or middle of the almost-morning) and no sane person should be calling anyone at this insane hour. She covered her ears and hoped the ringing would die down, perhaps it was a wrong number and she had almost heaved out a sigh of relief, eyes and consciousness ready to drift off again when it died down. But it was soon ringing again and she let out an exasperated groan as she pulled it out from underneath the pillows and the sheets and pushed the answer button. _This better be important._

"Wench."

She was violently torn from her lethargy and she had never felt more awake in her entire life, blood rushing to pound in her ears and in her chest, more deafening than the silence that followed. "Jaime."

"Brienne."

She turned to look at her nightstand and realized it was past five in the morning and though getting up at five in the morning is alright in usual circumstances, it was a Sunday and Sunday meant sleeping in and lazing around. But he had called at an unusual hour despite it being a Sunday and she knew she should be annoyed and scold him for his lack of consideration but words ran out on her and she ran out of words.

"Brienne. Hey, you there?"

"Yes." _Yes, I am, why now? Why just now?_ But it was only her breathing in the receiver and words were left unformed, unsaid.

"Did I call at an inconvenient time?"

She scoffed. "Inconvenient? It is 5 bloody AM Jaime. And it's a Sunday."

He laughed, and she found herself smiling despite the sudden surge of anger in her chest which had allowed some words to spill. "The day's too fine to waste it on sleeping."

The weather at the Vale is dreary and cloudy and she had wanted to tell him that if he had gone with her he would know how _fine_ everyday at the Vale is, but that would open up a conversation that she wouldn't want to have with him, not at this moment, and she was certain he wouldn't want to have it with her either. "Why did you call?"

"I missed you wench."

She was almost a dam ready to burst as she bit back the tears that threatened the very walls she had built around her. But he did say they were friends and perhaps friends can say how much they miss each other and perhaps she was reading too much on what he was saying, reading too much between the lines and between between the lines, reading all the fine print and confusing letters and confusing words and confusing feelings.

"The sun's rising."

Brienne involuntarily reached out to throw her curtains wide open, scant rays pouring in, breaking through grey clouds. It was almost sunrise, it was almost beautiful. She remembered that sunrise they shared at the Maidenpool reservation, seemingly a lifetime ago and she thought that this almost-sunrise, regardless of the greys and navies and the impending showers, looked almost as beautiful.

"Good morning Brienne."

"Good morning Jaime." And she felt a lot better.

"""

If not for Sansa's arrival at around nine in the morning, Brienne knew they would have gone on talking but Sansa was there wiggling her eyebrows at her and making kissy faces that Brienne stuttered and stammered into the receiver, Jaime responding with a couple of insults on her capacity with words. She said they should just talk later, she has a guest by the way who cooks her breakfast and they have plans for Sunday at which Jaime replied with how unfair she was, they could have gone swimming he said if she came to King's Landing (that conversation eventually came up and Jaime was cool about it and told her all she had missed because she chose the somnolent Vale over the capital).

"Talk to you later then wench." To which she replied a breathy yes which earned a chuckle from him and a quick ending of the talk button from her end. She was red in the face by the time the call ended and Sansa was happily smiling, wiggly eyebrows telling her wordlessly there are tales to be shared and a certain man to be the topic of conversation.

They spent the entire day lazing and talking, watching movies and ordering pizza and potato wedges. For dinner they went out, a quiet restaurant just beyond the Gates of the Moon which has a nice ambience and served great food. Brienne talked about Jaime, general outlines of their friendship, she tried to keep her tone neutral but Sansa was grinning from ear to ear. She had skipped parts of their story which would have otherwise made Sansa grin bigger, parts which would might give the redhead girl (who spend watching romantic comedies in her free time) the wrong impression, that there was a more-than-friendly kind of relationship between her and Jaime because there was none (though apparently her own censoring of certain parts of their story could be a proof that she was having the wrong impression as well). She sent Sansa off to her dormitory, and took a bus home. The Vale was a pleasant place if she would really think about it, the cable car to the Eyrie, where she takes up office space, was one thing she looks forward to every morning.

By the time she arrived home it was some minutes past eleven and her phone was ringing.

"""

"Jaime." She didn't want to sound breathless though apparently her body is refusing to cooperate with her.

"Took you long enough." He laughed.

They talked about a lot of things; he asked about her job at the Vale, he told her about his, his new staff and how everyone suddenly seemed so little (or maybe because he had just been used to her he said), he asked her then about her accommodations, she told him about the cable car and he expressed how he should have known about that, how he would have probably signed up for the Vale if he knew. Then he told her about Tyrion, he was getting married it seemed, he knew from the papers though his brother hadn't said anything about it (he had told her once about their rift) not that he was expecting Tyrion to inform him, "But still!", he exclaimed. He then asked her about Sansa and told her that it was good at least someone was taking care of her, and making sure she eats her meals, because if let alone she would probably just keep on working, besides, she doesn't need to diet, he said.

"I'd have you as you are now."

She had forgotten how to speak then so she only laughed and he joined her and soon they were both laughing.

"You'd be great wherever you go," he suddenly said when all that was left were remnants of the laugh they shared, "Even in broadcasting."

_Ah_. She felt a tug at her heart then at his indirect apology and at that moment she wanted to tell him she wished she had gone to the capital instead so they can see the show he had been talking about and not endure the grey sunrises at the Vale, but she had held her own breath and words died on her throat.

"I'd call you tomorrow then."

"Yes. Call." There was a minute when she heard of only his smile and the surrounding noises of what she assumed is his own place and when she cleared her throat he only snorted and finally ended the call.

"""

Just after she punched the snooze button on her alarm that following morning, he was already calling. Brienne told him off how she was supposed to sleep for five more minutes. His only answer was to snigger and told her he could just imagine how she looked. They talked as she went through her morning routine and she thought idly how it suddenly all seemed like she was back in Harrenhal. He ended the call saying he would call again in the evening.

It became part of her routine, his calling. In the mornings they would talk about random things, things they were supposed to do at work, things she was expecting to happen. In the evenings they would talk about how their day went; she would often laugh and frown (as if he could see it). He told her she needed to expand her vocabularies, because there are a lot of things he could not see (just like her glares and scowls) so she would have to put many things in words, even emotions. She had been a little nervous at that, afraid how to put things in words, how to put emotions in words, what if she puts _too much_ emotion she let slip all her thoughts? So she only said yes she would try and words came easy most times but words were left unformed whenever he said something that made her heart lurch forward, lurch down from her chest, from the Moon Door at the Eyrie, trampled upon by mountain goats she and Sansa saw when they went hiking and his voice asking if she was still there would be the only thing to jolt her from her sudden stupor, goats forgotten all of a sudden, and they would continue on with their conversation until he dropped words like a bomb again and she would be her petrified self once more.

He called usually whenever Sansa is preparing dinner and the redhead girl would raise a brow when her phone rings and Brienne would slip into the patio or escape to the living room or to any unoccupied room (except her bedroom) to talk to him. Sansa would be grinning by the time Brienne came back and the latter would be blushing, denying for a certainty that his calls meant nothing, only words and stories, just exchanges between two people who are friends.


	7. Old and new

**The Order of Things**

**by hye-kyo**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply.

**Author's Notes: **Reference to Jaime burning Cersei's letter in AFFC and his contrasting treatment of Brienne in ADWD. Such a shipper. Next up: King's Landing (and they'll be finally together again!).

Chapter inspired by Bon Iver's Re:Stacks.

This is not the sound of a new man or crispy realization  
It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away  
Your love will be  
Safe with me

Reviews are love. Cross posted at AO3 and updated much faster.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Old and new  
**

"""

He left the Riverlands the same day the wench left for the Vale. Perhaps it was pride or something similar—_I wouldn't call her, she can go bat her eyelashes at the gay Baratheon for all I damn care_—that made him angrier and more irritable. He went back to the capital, Catelyn sent him to work on auditing some company Petyr Baelish set up, engrossed himself with his new task, it was a little tricky but nothing compared to what he and that giant woman had to work on in Harrenhal. He could do it, he had been doing it all his life, this, being this alone.

He had to admit his heart did race at the sudden ringing of his phone, thinking it was the wench who finally came to her senses realizing she should not have crossed him, they were good together besides. _Together_, it somehow tasted good in his mouth. Though the good taste turned into something stale when he noted the name on his phone. It was not supposed to be like this, he had been living only for Cersei, his stepsister, his lover, hadn't he?

"Jaime." Her tone was the harshest he had ever known.

"My sweet sister."

"Come."

"""

Cersei had never come to him, he was always the one who needed to cross the distance between them, to meet her where she is, it had never been a relationship of equals (he now saw) and though the staleness in his mouth did not leave and only intensified, he walked the threshold to reach her, her in her red dress and golden hair, cruel eyes alit in the low light and he felt the sudden surge of painful desire flow through him. _Perhaps he had been without Cersei for too long_, was what he thought when an image of Brienne, big and flushing came to mind. It had only ever been Cersei, Cersei and her insatiableness and he closed his mind to all other thoughts and tried to focus on all memories of Cersei and Cersei alone—the hum of his body meeting hers, the darkening of her eyes, the sensations of skin against skin. Cersei's voice interrupted his thoughts just as they turned the green to blue, an expanse of freckled skin under his palms and the smell of innocence and honor and of _her. Brienne._

"Jaime."

His eyes met hers and he could see the want in her eyes. "Sweet sister."

"You didn't call."

"You didn't." He turned the taste in his mouth and found the words inside his mind were bile. Should it always have to be her?

She stripped off her red dress, never leaving the space she was standing, never letting a limb or a finger leave the circle she had made around herself. If he wanted her he would have to reach her. The image of her body, lithe and wanton, breasts heavy and heaving, urged his feet on, a hand reaching out to pull her into him, skin flushed against his own clothed self and he heard her moan. His mouth found her neck and latched itself to the pulsing skin, perfumed and sweet, his hands settling on the small of her back, urging her closer, closer still, wanting to savor and prolong the feel of her in his arms until she pushed him slightly and made a noise of annoyance and impatience.

"I need you to help me with something." She slipped a hand between then and began unbuttoning his trousers, hands touching the hardness in his pants. He looked at her then, her words in his head and he could see all possible ways of how this would end. The desire in him was telling him to continue with it, thrust into her and get the release he had been seeking and wanting for half a year. _Brienne_. But something in him, perhaps that weariness at being this, _just this_, to Cersei was screaming at him to stop being such a fool.

"With what?"

"I need to get some files for the Redwynes."

_Ah_. He had worked on the Redwyne accounts before and he could see how his knowledge of that account could help his sweet stepsister. Cersei was a lawyer, and had a taste for high profile cases. It did put her in the limelight which he knew she liked. Tyrion had often wondered aloud how their dear sweet stepsister could have probably passed law school and bar exams, she was less brilliant than she thought herself to be (Tyrion though had expressed it in more palpable terms, clearly sharper and more crude that involved a cunt word). He had alluded it then to their lack of chemistry, (though the chemistry Jaime and their sister developed was something more than should have been) and ignored Tyrion's words, his references to Rhaegar, to the witless Kettlebacks and all other men whose names he had forgotten. He remembered what he told Brienne about his faithfulness and how she had reacted at that. He had wanted then to put his mouth against hers, test his own faithfulness (or whatever it is called, fear? Guilt? Lack of balls at allowing Cersei to lead him on like this?) and he felt the utmost regret at having stopped himself from kissing the big wench's mouth, and all other parts of her and if he ever would pledge his faith to the wench, he knew it would really be faith.

"Will you help me?" Her mouth was on his neck, and a hand deftly stroking his cock. Will he help her? He knew he would have, if she had asked this of him before, before everything, before the spatial distance between King's Landing and the Riverlands made him see what was there before his eyes. Had she been faithful as he was to her? He would have to ask Tyrion, though Tyrion had been missing for the better part of his life, leaving him alone to be blinded by the glitter in Cersei. Though not everything that glitters is gold. Cersei was not golden, he could see it now, the masking of everything underneath, cruel underneath all the glitter of gold, all pretentions masking her want to be him, to replace him. She had always been competitive though of course Tywin had always favoured him being that he was the _man_ and she the_ woman_ and he had found it at first consuming how she would have wanted to always have him near her, believing it was love. Because if it was not love, what was it?

Tywin married again immediately after their mother died giving birth to Tyrion. When he saw Cersei for the first time, he immediately saw their physical likeness and how she resembled their late mother. Cersei's mother died in an accident some three years after the marriage with his father and Cersei had clung to him then. He believed it was love when she walked into his room one night and slipped into his bed, a bed was made to be shared she had said and kissed him and soon enough they were rutting like boars, exhilarated at the temporary freedom and solace such pleasure provided them. But Tywin wanted her to marry and though she was older than Jaime their father insisted she would not inherit a single penny if she doesn't marry someone of their standing, she was still an adopted child besides. She attended law school while he finished his MBA. Tyrion had told him once she fucked her way through law school, sleeping with professors and students alike. He had not believed of course, he was Cersei's as Cersei was his and though he sometimes wondered how there could probably be some truth in Tyrion's words (she was sometimes all talk, all airs, with nothing in her head to back it all up), Cersei's mouth convinced him of anything but.

"Will you Jaime?" She guided his cock to her entrance, fingers entwined and rubbing around the pulsing flesh and he groaned. Will he? The past year had allowed him plenty enough space to think and perhaps he needed more space and more time to assess everything. He had been thinking with the head in his pants not with the one on top of his shoulders all these years and perhaps he needed to take a step back and try to understand why, despite the shivering in his body, his mind was going back to the time when he slipped in the wench's bed and held her, just held her and he felt his own body sang then, a thousand times more exhilarating than the feel of Cersei's skin against his own. A sense of completion, as if he had not known he had been missing something his entire life, as if he had been living as an incomplete entity his entire life and finally found that missing something, whatever it is, in the big wench with blue eyes. But Cersei was supposed to make him whole hadn't she? He was reminded of all the times she had asked for his help with the use of her body, her mouth, her hands, and he knew that it was him making her whole and not the other way around, not the way Cersei informed him. It was she who needed him, who needed him to further her career. Why hadn't he seen it until now? Now that the distance between him and the wench had grown to such threatening degrees he was beginning to be afraid that it would engulf them and make them forget. Just forget.

"It's your case Cersei. Perhaps you should do your own research." His words were bitter in his mouth.

"Isn't this research?" He thought it was supposed to be a jest but Cersei never jested with him and it came out cruel and bitter and he eased himself away from her, cock stark red and hard and his own eyes swimming in something akin to anger.

"Is it? Is that all there is to this?" He zipped his pants, willing his arousal away.

"Why do you even ask me that Jaime?"

He looked away from her, bile rising in his throat. Perhaps, perhaps he should think everything through. He thought he understood everything, Cersei was everything besides, it was only now he was beginning to realize he hadn't known a single thing about everything, about her. Had she changed? Or was it him? Or was he too blinded to have seen this?

"You've changed brother." She slipped on her discarded dress and spat her words. "If you won't help me I'll find someone useful who will. Not some useless has-been like you."

He felt some sort of loosening in his chest when the words left her mouth. At least it came from her, at least he had heard it clear, words ringing in his ears and he felt some sort of peace with himself, some sense of affirmation that he was that to her. She would come around he knew, she would eventually need something again, she would not discard him that quickly. If she needed him more than that she would come to him. But he knew he was fooling himself. He was only seeing it clearly now, seeing as if he had never been able to see before. He never felt this sober in his entire life.

"""

Tyrion came to him three weeks after he came to King's Landing. He was surprised to find him at the door to his office, forgetting to invite him in. When Tyrion mouthed some crude curses about not being invited after all, after all the trouble he went through just to make his way back to the capital, Jaime laughed, completely forgetting all those years of pain and hurt and quickly apologized for his attitude, invited his little brother inside and called someone to bring in coffee.

He inquired about his little brother's whereabouts and soon Tyrion was telling him of his exploits across the Narrow Sea, and in turn Jaime told him of his past year at the Riverlands. He did mention something about Brienne, dropped a word about how big, tall, strong and much of a damn goody-two-shoes she was. He did tell him she was the stiffest, most stubborn woman with the tersest choice of words he had ever met. He did not however say she has the bluest blue eyes he had ever seen.

"Cersei was fuming." Tyrion had settled on the couch and he was sitting across from him. It had been, how many, hours since they started talking and yet there were still too many things that needed to be said, too many things needed to be shared for a bridge that was burned to be made un-burnt.

Jaime scoffed, taking a sip of coffee. "Our sweet sister is always fuming."

"Did someone bonk you in the head dear brother?" Tyrion looked at him suspiciously, a glint in his mismatched eyes.

"Someone." He smiled with a tilt of his head.

"Took you long enough though. I had been telling you about our sweet sister's sleeping habits but you never listened."

Jaime nodded. "With whom?"

"With whom? That's a tough one." Tyrion arched a brow, a bite in his words, "The answer would have been easier if you asked me with whom she did not sleep with."

"Some names, I have to start with some names."

"The Kettlebacks. Of course you knew that."

He did. Though of course he had been blind to see everything.

"Lancel."

Jaime stared at him incredulously. "Our cousin?"

Tyrion shrugged. "Currently Robert Baratheon. Though I heard she was going at it with the Redwynes when she was trying to get their case." He stood up, one hand in his pocket. He glanced at his watch. "Send my regards to your someone and thank her, I'm assuming it's a her brother, though I won't be discriminating if you had changed your preference without my knowing, but let me assume it's a her, so thank her for me, for putting some sense into you."

Jaime only smiled and opened the door for his brother. "See you around."

Tyrion gave him a wave, "See you around."

"""

Jaime was jogging up Visenya's Hill on the morning of the first day of the second month since he assumed his post at King's Landing when an epiphany dawned on him. The sun was breaking into the horizon, scraps of light pushing through the clouds to flood his field of vision with a bright light. The thought was immediate, uncalled for but when he grasped it his heart raced to his throat, a dawning behind his eyes and his response was to dial the wench's number and call her. The sun was almost up by the time she finally spoke through the phone, a couple of rings seemed to be like a thousand as he waited and waited for her to break through the barriers of spatial distance and meet him in the middle, make a connection through flimsy invisible wires of technology. When she finally answered the call he felt relieved, her voice was hoarse and cranky and he knew he had woken her from sleep which would have earned him a blow to his gut had he been standing anywhere near her (which he wouldn't mind as long as he was _standing_ anywhere near her). His only response was to laugh at her and laugh some more at her inability to form words, jests flowing from his mouth like water, fluid and he realized he had missed her. When he voiced out that particular thought she had fallen silent, and he could just picture the blush staining her cheeks, her freckles highlighted and her blue eyes widening at the sudden confession.

They talked for hours, the sun was already up and shining bright and hot when she ended the call, mentioning Sansa Stark and then he promised to call her later. And later he did call. And everyday since then.

"""

They were debating about the merits of a breaststroke when Tyrion came barging in. "I'll call you later Brienne, Tyrion's here." Jaime did not fail to note the smile playing in the eyes of his little brother when he invited himself to sit on the chair in front of his desk, piles of paper between them. He had seen him thrice after he came some four months ago and Jaime welcomed every moment when he did.

"Was that your _someone_? Please. You didn't have to stop."

Jaime tried to ignore the suggestion ripe in his brother's mouth. "What brings you here little brother?"

His brother made a grand sweep of his surroundings, a dramatic shrugging of his shoulders before he finally said, "I want to invite you to my engagement party."

Jaime had read the papers of course and he knew Tyrion was getting married but he was surprised to find him inviting him after all the bad words said between them. Not that he doesn't want to, he was just pleasantly shocked that Tyrion would include him.

"Though you should bring a plus one."

He furrowed his brows.

"You know," Tyrion looked him straight in the eye, "A date. A woman."

"I don't have any woman in my life now." Which is true, seeing that Cersei had ended whatever it was between them months ago. Though surely, if he thought about it, it can be said that everything had ended more than a year ago when he left. Or it could be that there was nothing after all, since apparently Cersei had never returned the same intensity of feelings, she had never been in it for the same reasons besides.

"Brienne is a woman. You did say she is."

"She is." Jaime couldn't help the slight smile on his lips.

"Then date her."

"What?"

Tyrion only laughed. "I mean take her to the engagement party."

Jaime knew there was something more behind his words but he only laughed and told him he would ask Brienne, though she was far at the Vale and he does not know if she could spare some time to fly to the capital. But Jaime perfectly understood what lay behind Tyrion's spoken words yet he was a little afraid of admitting that he understood, that he knew, because this was Brienne they were talking about and he was not so certain it was that kind of relationship he wanted to have with her, she was _so good_ besides, though, he wouldn't really mind (he realized suddenly as he thought about it) if she agreed to a similar arrangement. A date would be the perfect amendment to their otherwise rambunctious beginning. He could just see the frown in her face. He almost laughed to himself.

Tyrion left immediately, urging him to call his plus one and continue whatever it was they were talking about, "I wouldn't want to disrupt you from your wooing," he said as he made his way to the door, chuckling his way through the corridors as Jaime stood up to see him out. "She tolerates you, it seems," Tyrion called out as he stepped into the elevator, "You wouldn't find any other woman like that."

"""

He called Brienne immediately to inform him of Tyrion's invite. As he had expected, she did decline and told him she wouldn't be able to leave, though she would try she said and would inform him about it if she could take a leave. "Besides, I want to see you." The words were out of his mouth quicker than he had anticipated and he almost grimaced at the possible ramifications. He was beginning to act like a lovesick fool, because he was not lovesick, he was not in love anyway. Love is such a big word, a deep word, a thorny word. Hadn't he described what he and Cersei had as love? If that was love then he would not want to be in love with Brienne. He would want it to be something else.

"I will make time."

She would, his mind told him and he almost made a little happy dance in his head at the promise and told himself this was not love, this was something beyond love. This was beyond the frissons of lust he felt at the Maidenpool, nor the separation anxiety in his stomach at Duskendale. This was not the anger and the desire and the camaraderie and the understanding he felt in Harrenhal. This was not the envy and insecurity he felt at the Riverlands. This was all that but beyond that. This was not love.

"""

A total of six months have passed before Cersei sent him a message again. _Come Jaime. I need you_. He was sitting then in his office, checking transactions between Baelish and the Arryns when Cersei's message came. It seemed to burn as he read it, and reread it, weighing decisions in his head. He heard she lost the Redwyne case but that she filed an appeal and he was sure she was asking him to come once more to urge him to give her the files she had asked for before.

He turned off his phone, afraid that he would follow her again if he read her message for a third time. He had chosen to ignore her looming presence in the days that followed since Cersei, in crude words, ended their relationship though he was sometimes unsuccessful given the media hype around the Redwyne case and Cersei's beautiful face was all over the news. He turned his phone on, read the message a third time and finally deleted it, breathing a sigh of relief as he eradicated that piece of presence of hers trying to creep back into his everyday routine.

His phone buzzed however again and he felt that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, worried it was Cersei again with her pleas and demands. The worry, however, was quickly replaced by that sudden twisting of knots he associated with excitement (and lust) as he scrolled down to find out who it was. He immediately tensed and stood up, grabbed his coat and car keys and called for Ilyn Payne to cancel all meetings scheduled in the afternoon and take note of all important calls and tell Tyrion (if he dropped by) that he would see him the day after and instructed Ilyn to inform Tyrion verbatim that something came up, something really really important, _someone_.

_Hello Jaime. I'm at the King's Airport. –Brienne_


End file.
